Sound of the Sea
by dgschneider
Summary: She told him it takes three days for the world to turn right side up again. Oh, how he wished that was true. Set in Season 6
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

"The roaring seas and many a dark range of mountains lie between us."

― **Homer** , **The Iliad**

Leaning forward, Booth rubbed his hands down his face letting his jaw drop as he went. The rough feel of stubble chased by a long exasperated sigh. He collapsed in on himself. Elbows on his knees, head in his hands as he stared down at his coffee table. A bottle of scotch, a tumbler, only the remnants of two fingers resting at the bottom of a glass, his cell phone, all lined up in a row. Another breath, heavy and forced. He looked over towards his bedroom. It wasn't fair. Not to her, or him for that matter, not to any of them. The overwhelming injustice of it all rolled over him in unrelenting waves.

Hannah's silhouette hovered in the doorway between his living room and bedroom, a silent witness to his nightmares. She just stood there, arms crossed protectively across her chest bunching up his oversized Flyers t-shirt. She was barely a silhouette, haloed in dim moonlight which crept around her through cracks in the blinds. This happened regularly, often enough for them to develop a routine. Often enough for her to stop asking what she could do to help, tired of his terse answer. "Just give me some space."

This was not the heroic soldier that rescued her, not the one she played with under the shade of fig trees. And while she knew about PTSD, having reported on it numerous times, living it was certainly different. He was different. Her soldier seemed to be getting worse the longer he was stateside, not better. Letting out a loud huff, she retreated back into the bedroom.

He watched her go.

Jaw ticking violently, every muscle taut, he reached for the tumbler but grabbed his phone instead. The punishing light momentarily blinding him as the phone sprung back to life. The keyboard was still up, cursor still flashing where he deleted his latest attempt at a text.

"Now you remember, Shrimp. it's all in there, everything you need to know." Pop's voice echoed in his head, the comforting repetition of advice given over and over through the years. Words of wisdom from the grandfather that saved him, taught him how to be a man, a good man. Booth rubbed the center of his chest, missing the strong tap Pops always placed right over his heart. "You just do what it tells you."

"Do what it tells you." There was an answer in that, had to be.

" _ **Hey,"**_ he typed, then closed his eyes and hit send.

Startled by the sound of her phone, Brennan sat up abruptly, scrambling back until she backed into the headboard of her bed. She must have fallen asleep reading, bedside lamp still on, Journal of Forensic Anthropology still open, highlighters, pens, and post-it-notes strewn around her, all evidence of her constant battle with insomnia. Booth's text left her heart pounding. It was vague, sending her mind spinning.

Concern twisted in the pit of her stomach as she posited different scenarios and contemplated possible responses. Better to ask, she told herself, concerned. Tucking her lip anxiously between her teeth she answered.

" _ **You okay?"**_

It used to be easy between them and while she tried to pretend that everything was normal, she missed that ease most of all. Everything felt strained now, like an unsuccessful attempt at pretending to themselves. They were a hollow shell of what they used to be. Staring down at the screen of her phone, she waited for a response. It was fast, faster than she expected.

" _ **Better now."**_ Gasping for air, she choked on her strangled sobs. He did that to her, reached right past her best defenses, twisting her fragile unprotected heart. She wiped frantically at her fast falling tears, fighting the watery haze that made it impossible to see.

His words called back to a happier time, when they were unapologetically close, sharing nearly everything in the name of partnership. A time when they relied on each other in both their professional and personal lives. A different kind of family, one they chose, that's what he sold her. In those days, he would call her when a nightmare terrorized him in his sleep. She did the same. It was something they used to share. He'd hear her voice, whispering through phone lines that tethered them to one another in the middle of dark nights. "Better now," he'd say. And it was better.

" _ **Nightmare?"**_

He couldn't answer that, wouldn't, he told himself. Reaching for that bottle of scotch in a futile attempt to keep the aftershocks of his nightmare from drowning him. He poured himself a little more, downing it in one long swallow. Bracing himself for the burn, he waited for the promised warmth that came with hard liquor. He settled back into the couch, holding the tumbler with both hands, his phone resting on his thigh.

It was raining, pouring really, and she was bent down in the middle of the road piecing together the last few minutes of Lauren Eames' life. He saw her, in real life, he saw her and the car heading straight for her. Rushing into the street, he grabbed her, pulling her to safety. It was what he did, save her, his self assigned job. And while things were different because of Hannah, he hadn't entirely abandoned his post.

Only this time, he wasn't on the side of the road, he was driving. He was the truck hurling toward her in the deluge. It was him that screamed and honked and slammed on the brakes sending his truck skidding, sliding side to side. In his dream, it didn't matter how loud he yelled, how hard he hit the brakes, they didn't work. Nothing worked.

His body jerked at the memory of hitting her, it was so vivid it seemed real. The way she flew through the air, up onto the front of the truck, into the windshield, then rolled lifeless, her whole path in reverse, down to the cold wet asphalt beneath her. He killed her, in his dream, the woman he loved, had loved, for so many years. The woman who stole his every thought and breath and heart, then broke it, was lying lifeless at his feet.

He'd seen too many dead bodies, his mind held those images in reserve, waiting to dredge them up through his subconscious for moments just like these. He couldn't look away, no storm left in those stunning blue-green eyes of hers, they were open and empty. Blood streamed down her beautiful face, joining rivulets of rainwater, flowing endlessly into dark, watery puddles. It was all so real.

" _ **Yeah."**_ He didn't mean to send that but he did.

He begged her to live, reaching to drag her limp body up into his arms, but he couldn't move, paralyzed by some unearthly force that bound him. Watching the life drain out of her until her cold, dead eyes fixed and unmovable, stared at him. He did that to her. He killed her. Waking in a panic, he cursed God, pleading for forgiveness. Heart pounding, drenched in sweat, it wasn't the first night he had this particular dream or some variation of it.

" _ **Do you want to talk about it?"**_

Staring down at the text message, he shook his head. Talking was too painful lately, torment.

He knew, taking her home that night, the minute she said she made a mistake, he knew the confession she was about to make was not about the case. It was about him, about her feelings for him. He wasn't ready for that, nothing on earth could have prepared him. He panicked, his eyes darting back and forth between her and the road, drowning in the unfairness of it all. All he could do is deny her, he moved on, she understood he had to move on, and now, after all this time, she wanted him to know she loved him.

"I'm with someone." He told her even though he knew she already knew that. It seemed ridiculous to say, even as it was passing over his lips and ringing in his own ears. But he needed to say it because on some level he needed to hear it himself. It hurt like self inflicted torture, a double edged sword plunged deep into his heart.

"She's not a consolation prize." He added, watching helplessly, as his words crushed her vulnerable heart, the heart he'd sworn to protect. He didn't want to do that to her, God, he didn't want to hurt her like that. Closing his eyes momentarily, he drove the last nail in the coffin. "I love her."

Her sobs echoed through him, raw misery. Even now, weeks later, he could still hear them, couldn't shake them.

"I understand." She choked out.

Gripping the steering wheel he willed himself not to reach out to her, he couldn't, it wouldn't be fair to her to lead her on like that, confuse her, give her a false sense of hope. "I can adjust." She promised, stiff upper lip. He sat there watching as the strong woman he fell in love with added another layer to her already thick walls, this time by his hand. "I'm fine alone." Her words, those heart crushing tears, haunted him because she wasn't fine alone and she hadn't adjusted, she just hid.

Three days, she told him, three days for the world to turn right side up again. Those days came and went with no new case, no word from Bones, and he let them, something he'd never done before. And when he finally reached out, not to her, but to Angela, he got nothing but a stern lecture that ended abruptly with, "if you're really concerned about her, ask her yourself."

He didn't, couldn't.

She retreated to bone storage until they had a new case and he let her go, hoping that when it was time to work together again this would be behind them, long forgotten. It worked, at least he thought it worked, accepting her compartmentalized surface as the world righting itself allowed them both to pretend that nothing happened that cold rainy night, it was easier that way.

Booth, sniffled, sucking in a deep breath, tipping his glass all the way back to get the last couple drops of liquor. Easier. It was easier with the exception of the relentless nightmares. Still, talking didn't seem like the answer. How would stirring it all up again help anything? It would only prolong the torture, right? Make things worse.

" _ **Can't talk. Just need to know you're safe."**_

Can't. Won't. It didn't matter. The moment was lost. Looking down at the palms of her open hands, she wondered just how and when this thing that was them slipped through her fingers. When she refused him, turned him down? When she left for Maluku? When she didn't write or call? Regardless, it all came back to her. She did this to them. And even though telling him she got the message was supposed to leave her with no regrets it seemed like it only compounded them.

She hurt him. She saw it in his eyes when she told him, the pain almost unbearable. Even the way he looked at her on that first case back after her confession, she could see the remnants. There was no way to fix that, she couldn't take it back, and in many ways, in the multiple iterations that ran through her mind in the days that followed, she decided she wouldn't even if she could. She said what needed to be said, for better or worse.

But, this night, when his words quietly reached out to her in the middle of the night, breaking her solitude, she could give him what he needed. A little comfort, no matter how small a thing that seemed to be, she could do that for him.

" _ **I'm safe, doors locked, security system armed, in bed."**_

An audible sigh of relief filled his small apartment. His shoulders dropped, his body fell limp as every muscle released its tight hold on him.

" _ **Good," he typed, "stay that way."**_

" _ **Good night, Booth."**_

Sometimes he envied her ability to compartmentalize. It seemed so effortless. He wanted that now, needed it. Maybe there was just too much water underneath their bridge, too many shared memories, too much history for him to do that.

His eyes rolled over the words, their messages back and forth.

Where were the lines? He wasn't sure anymore. Partners? Friends? Some sort of makeshift family? More? Wandering back to Hannah, he tried, unsuccessfully, to reconcile it all.

He told her the whole thing, all of it, confessed like the good Catholic boy he tried to be. In the interest of full disclosure, no secrets, he promised that he was over all those feelings he used to have for Bones.

"Whatever I felt, I don't feel it anymore, except for you."

Was it all a lie? He didn't think so. He loved Hannah. He did. She was beautiful and strong and easy to be with. But lately he caught himself looking at Bones the way he used to, unable to resist the pull she held over him.

No, he told himself. No. I've moved on. She's moved on. It is over. I'm done.

Swiping his thumb across the screen, Booth brought his cell phone back to life, backed out of his text messages, returned to his home screen, then locked it, sending it back to black. He took a long fortifying breath and slapped his hands down on his knees as he pulled his stiff body up.

Hannah was in bed, facing away from the doorway where he paused to watch her. He would climb in next to her and pull her close, holding her tight against his chest. Curling into her when she let her hand drift over his, intertwining their fingers. He wanted to drown himself in her, hoping to forget the storm raging within him.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: Well, what do you think?

I promise I won't leave you in this awful state! This story will go all the way from this sad state, through the awkwardness, and right through until they are safely in one another's arms!

The idea for this story has been rattling around my brain since I was writing Need, begging for attention. I don't want to give anything away so I'll keep all those thoughts to myself for the time being and maybe share a few of them as we go along.

I've given myself a little head start on this one in hopes of posting more regularly. I'm currently working on chapter 6. A special shout out to Snowybones for her continued support and willingness to read. I owe her a lot for that.

Thank you in advance to everyone for reading and reviewing. There isn't much point in writing if no one is there to read it. Knowing that people are reading, hearing that they are enjoying the story, they they are moved in some way by it, makes it all worth doing.

Much love

~DG


	2. Chapter 2

_After The Bullet in the Brain_

Chapter 2

"The thing about the ocean is that the surface won't always tell you what is going on underneath."

― **Jennifer Arnett** , **Into Her Chambers**

There was an innocence to her, an undefiled purity he couldn't explain mixed in there with all that intelligence and strength and pain. Maybe it was her honesty. While she didn't always reveal the truth of her, she never lied. He could trust that, always. What were the lyrics to that old Billy Joel song, Booth thought as he stared up at his bedroom ceiling, "...and she only reveals what she wants you to see." God, that was her.

He was alone, Hannah was out of town on assignment. There was a certain freedom in that he appreciated. He didn't have to feel guilty for lying next to one woman and thinking about another. Rough and low, he hummed the song, inserting whispered lyrics here and there.

 _She can kill with a smile_

 _She can wound with her eyes_

 _She can ruin your…_

His soft words drifted off and he took a long pained breath. Faith, she can ruin your faith.

 _And she only reveals what she wants you to see_

 _She hides like a child..._

Earlier that night, staring out the diner window, he watched that woman, that incredibly intelligent, strong, beautiful woman, his partner, his Bones, saying goodbye to her father. He saw it so clearly then, her innocence, it stole his breath away. It was in her eyes, a kind of childlike awe, written all over her soft features as she took that conch shell from her father and raised it to her ear. Her intelligence, her command of large, complicated words, her outwardly cold, harsh persona, they were all just defenses to hide her tender heart. It wasn't that she didn't feel, that wasn't it at all, it was that she felt too much, too deeply.

That innocence awakened something in him, from the very beginning, a force that drew him in and demanded he protect her and her vulnerable heart. He was her sentinel. He fought it at first, denying it. After all, she was brilliant, easily the smartest person he ever met. How could someone so intelligent be so naive, unless they were smart enough to play dumb? But it wasn't an act, not with her, there was no manipulation. The crinkle in her brow, "I don't know what that means." And she didn't. It was a beautiful dichotomy, he loved that about her.

His right hand drifted over his bare chest, his left arm wrapped tight around him. It hurt and he was trying to hold it still in the hopes of controlling the pain. Turning his head, he looked over at the nightstand where Bones left his pain killer and a glass of water.

He protected her and she protected him or maybe she just picked up his broken pieces and fit them all back together again like one of her shattered skulls. Whatever it was, it worked, they worked, as a partnership, as friends, he reminded himself, trying to push their relationship back into the simple definitions dictated by society.

 _Oh, and she never gives out_

 _And she never gives in_

 _She just changes her mind_

It worked, they worked, even after their return to DC, until she changed her mind, about him, about them. He barely let himself think it, pushing the thought away as fast as he could, rationalizing her behavior. Booth let his eyes fall closed. It was too late. There was too much evidence.

When it happened, his ill fated confrontation with Broadsky, he called for help. Injured, barely able to move, completely unable to drive, there was no other choice. Then, when he was at the hospital, when he knew the extent of his injuries he called Bones and Hannah. Hannah didn't answer, but he didn't expect her too. When she called back, asking hesitantly if she needed to come home, he could tell she hoped he'd say no, so he did. Reassuring her, he told her he was fine, his injuries all minor.

Bones on the other hand dropped everything and raced to the hospital.

He could hear her, God, she was fierce. The nurses weren't going to let her come back to see him, tactical error on their part. Laughing at the memory of her ranting and railing all over the staff, he smiled into the darkness of his bedroom.

Her voice echoed through the open emergency room. He should've let them know right away that he wanted her back there with him, but he didn't. He just sat there on that gurney and listened, enjoying the whole scene a little too much. Her voice emphatic, full of passion, everyone should have that, someone so intensely protective.

"But, I'm his partner. I need to see him... _now_." There was something more in her voice, a slight tremble, an undertone of fear and concern for him, a hint of possession. "And I need to speak to the attending physician...immediately...and see all the lab work and x-rays. You did take x-rays, right?" It was that undertone of fear that got him. He couldn't let her suffer like that. Grabbing the closest nurse, he addressed her in that low confident voice of his.

"It's okay, she's with me, send her back."

The way she barreled through that curtain. The contrast of that pretty white blouse against her pale skin and her dark hair and he was sure the painkillers they gave him didn't help. She looked like an angel, his guardian angel.

The worry in her eyes overwhelmed him.

That was the moment, he was sure of it. Something broke between them, this essential part of them they'd been holding back was finally released. Speechless, their eyes caught in a simple, quiet exchange. That silent communication, the way they spoke to each other without words, they found it again in that small backwoods hospital, in the middle of nowhere, along Interstate 64, saying what couldn't be said aloud.

It was a relief, it felt good, more like them than they'd been since returning home and reactivating their partnership. At the same time, it was dangerous, he knew it, to let each other in like that. The rest of the evening stood as a witness of that.

Sprawled out in the middle of the bed Booth shook his head and let out a long tired breath, adjusting himself in search of a more comfortable position. Pain shot through his arm causing a sharp gasp to escape. It was time for more painkiller, past time really. Taking a deep breath he rolled and reached for the bottle Bones left him.

"Are you ready to go?" He'd been so lost in thought that he didn't see her come back into the diner. Looking up, he watched as she pulled her lip between her teeth, shifting her weight back and forth.

"Go?"

"Home. Are you ready for me to take you home?"

"What? No, Bones, you don't need to do that. I'm -" She cut him off.

"Nonsense."

"I'm just up the street."

"You were nearly blown up, Booth. I'm not letting you walk home." The tilt of her head, eyes wide and stubborn, she already won and she knew it. Letting out another long sigh, he pulled his gaze away and stared back out the window before pushing up from the table. He wobbled as he tried to juggle one crutch with his good arm to take pressure off his injured leg. Maybe she was right, maybe he needed help getting home. But after that, he was fine on his own.

As soon as she pulled the car over, he tried to just get out and walk himself inside. Before he could protest the engine was off, keys in her hot little hand, and she was rounding the passenger side getting his crutch from the backseat. He let his eyes fall closed momentarily. It would be different if Hannah was home, but having Bones up in his apartment, being alone with her, that wasn't appropriate. He never wanted there to be any question in Hannah's mind that he was faithful to her.

Life was never that simple, not for him. He was no match for her insistence, though this time she offered an explanation. One he wasn't at all sure he liked.

"I told Hannah I would make sure you were settled for the night before I left." She said as she waltzed right past him, bustling through his apartment. He nearly lost his balance as he turned quickly trying to keep up with her, first behind him, then in front of him, then in his kitchen getting a tall glass of fresh water.

"It's really not necessary." He was stiff, not relaxed in the slightest and he wasn't sure if it was because Bones was there, in his apartment, being so domestic or the fact the two most important women in his life colluded against him.

At least Hannah knew Bones was there helping him, he consoled himself. He assumed she approved. Of course, why wouldn't she. He'd told her there was nothing between Bones and him except work and friendship, the by product of nearly six years as partners in highly stressful life-threatening conditions.

"Okay, I get it. I'll be a good patient." Closing the door behind him, he hobbled toward his bedroom. He was exhausted, thinking for sure he'd lay down and pass out immediately. She could play nurse Nancy then let herself out when she was satisfied, he was going to sleep.

Staring down at the bed, he heard the glass and medicine bottle as she set them on his bedside table. She was right there behind him. Damn painkillers dulled his reaction time, left him exposed. He couldn't help the shuddered breath that chased her gentle touch as she turned him around. She was undoing the sling that held his arm. Eyes wide, darting across her in the dim light of his bedroom, breath shallow and thready, he tried his best not to react to her touch.

"What? What're you…" He stuttered.

"You need help changing." She was so matter of fact and while he was ruffled by their proximity and touch, she clearly wasn't. Maybe she really moved on. Maybe it was that easy for her, the queen of compartmentalization, just box him up and set him aside like there was nothing really there between them.

He pulled away. "I'm fine, Bones, I can do it myself." But he couldn't. One handed, his fingers fumbling, he kept at it, determined.

She lifted the sling carefully over his head, supporting his arm with her steady hand. She was so close, he was sure she could hear his heart pounding uncontrollably.

 _Please don't_ , his eyes begged.

 _I won't hurt you_ , hers answered as she gathered his t-shirt in her hands and started to lift it up over his body. Speechless, he just stood there obedient to her every prompting and movement. In her defense, she was careful, her fingers barely touched him and when they did it was unbearably light. He was sure that was worse as the electricity of her touch shot through him with each brush of her fingers against his bare skin.

She was talking, but, God, he had no idea what she was saying. Why was she always the one undressing him? The universe clearly hated him. Before he knew it he was standing there shirtless before her. Darting around him again, she pulled down the covers, then set her nimble finger to the button on his jeans.

"Bones!" He swore his voice cracked, like a freaking teenage boy.

"What?" His excited utterance stopped her dead in her tracks. "Did I hurt you?"

"I can get my own pants." Pushing her hands away he frantically went to work on the button. A step back and she stood there watching, arms folded smuggly across her chest. Without thinking, he moved his left arm, heaving in pain. Before he could ward her off, she was there, again. "Look, I'll just sleep with them on, okay? I don't need you...undressi-"

"Booth, I've done it before. It's not like I haven't seen you in your underwear." That didn't help, really, really didn't help. Looking straight up at the ceiling he let out an exasperated sigh. "You will rest better if you are comfortable and rest is an important part of healing. Just let me help, okay?" Pulling his gaze back to her stopped him dead in his tracks. There was something there in her eyes, something screaming that this was more than Bones being a pain in the ass. And then he heard it, whispered as an afterthought, wedged between her uncomfortable demands and commentary on what he wore to bed. "I should've been there for you," barely audible under her breath, "we're partners."

He stopped protesting. Stood still as she unbuttoned his pants and pulled them down, insisting he lean on her for support while he carefully stepped out of them. Partners, it was all they had left. He could see the pain in her eyes. She left not long after that, she made sure he was comfortable, that he had everything close at hand he might need to get through the night, water, meds, phone, insisting he call if he needed anything, then left. He heard the door close behind her, the lock clunk heavily into place.

God, Sweets was right, he still had feelings for her.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: I want to say thank you for the wonderful response to this story. I am overwhelmed and humbled by the reviews, follows, and favorites. They kept me going this week as I wrestled with this story (winner has yet to be determined) I am so grateful for your continued support and encouragement. Hopefully, this long weekend will give me a chance to catch up on answering those reviews! A special thank you to snowybones for all her help and feedback.

My plan right now is to post a new chapter each Thursday. I'm a few chapters ahead in writing so hopefully I can keep that schedule.

Oh, the song mentioned in the chapter is by Billy Joel, She's Always a Woman. It was originally released in 1977. I must have watched the youtube video of this song a million times while I was writing this chapter. It's one of my favorites. I especially loved comparing performances of the song when he was young to ones done more recently. You can hear the wisdom time and age has brought to the song.

Thank you for reading and please leave a review and tell me what you think so far.

Much love

~DG


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"But everything evened out eventually, didn't it – every wave subsided, lapsed back into the ocean, returning, giving them time to put themselves back together again. He was her moon. He balanced out her tides."

― **Katie Neipris**

The streets were dark, rain stained with splashes of color stretching out across the pavement, a reflection of neon lights that lit up the city by night. Booth drove. She sat quietly in the passenger seat looking out the window, watching them streak by in a beautiful blur. It was cold and the sound of the windshield wipers seemed loud in the face of their silence. It wasn't a bad thing, there was no tension between them, just a long stretch of thoughtful quiet. Stirring, she resettled herself in the seat, pulling her scarf up closer around her neck. He reached over and turned up the heat, aiming the vent toward her. If he asked she'd tell him she was fine and not to worry about it, but he knew she was cold.

He was taking her home, back to her apartment after their traditional post case celebration at the Founding Fathers. She offered to get a cab, he insisted she let him drive her. It was important to him. His eyes darted back and forth between the road and his partner, hating the silence, but not wanting to disturb it at the same time. It gave him time to think, which he seemed to need more than usual lately. Letting out a long, deep sigh he readjusted his grip on the steering wheel and let his mind wander.

They spent the better part of their first morning on the case lost in a corn field. How fitting, he thought, even as he traipsed aimlessly through the tall stalks, because since their return to DC it felt like they were lost. Their partnership, their working relationship and friendship, constantly in a state of flux. It was exhausting. Every time she thought she understood and mentally reset the parameters of their relationship, things changed again, making it impossible to settle into a way of being with him for any length of time. He saw it in her eyes, watched her struggle with it, but couldn't fix it for her. Maybe that's why he spent so much time convincing himself and her that they were the same partners they used to be. He did it for her...and for himself...if he was being honest.

But it was a delusion, they were different, they changed. It was inevitable, right, entropy, wasn't that what she called it. They spun in different directions for all those months when they were apart, how could they come back together and just pick up where they left off. He knew that when he signed up for active duty, that's one of the reasons he did it. He didn't want to come back the same, he left so he could come back different, so he could get over her and move on, they both did whether she wanted to admit it or not.

Being lost in that corn field gave him some much needed perspective. They wandered searching for the crime scene, him looking, her following, talking like she so often did, for him, because she knew he hated silence. And there was something comforting about hearing her casually school him with a long string of facts and trivia. He missed that over the last month while he was recovering from the injuries he suffered on the last case. It took some time, healing, physical therapy, strengthening, getting cleared for active duty again, which gave him some much needed distance.

They met at the diner a few times for lunch, had a couple dinners out, always the three of them, him, Bones, and Hannah, and at his office, just the two of them, to finish up paperwork but that was it. A far cry from days gone by when they spent nearly every waking hour together. A glimpse into the future he thought. It took him back to a conversation years ago when they were in partners therapy with Sweets. Coffee. This was their real life answer. If they didn't work together, they'd have coffee, every once in awhile, to catch up. He didn't like it, in fact, he hated it.

In a way it wasn't all that bad, he argued with himself, that time apart. It gave him time to focus on Hannah, let all the other stuff go. He needed that. Chalking all those feelings for Bones, that thrill that ran through him when they stood there alone in the darkness of his bedroom, to pain killers and trauma. He had to put some time and space between that night and their partnership, find some perspective.

Because it was just a fantasy, right, one he'd played out a million times in his head, come to life. Bones standing there in his bedroom undressing him, slow and deliberate, the brush of those hands of hers against his bare skin. Those hands, God, how those hands captivated him, all of him. How many times had he stopped and watched her work, watched those hands? And then she was there, not like he imagined it, not exactly anyways, but it was real, tangible, and his physical response, well, was just that, a physical response.

Biological urges, that's what she called them, right? It wasn't love, couldn't be, right? Because he was over that. He was with Hannah now. All this was, was the memory of something they used to, well, never mind, it wasn't even something they used to have. It was something he used to want.

Corn in Mesoamerica. Corn. Now playing on the Bones Channel, he let her words, her long stream of information, weave through his thoughts. He couldn't help the chuckle, the slight shake of his head back and forth. Somehow the woman made even the dullest topic sexy. And with that, the old familiar thrill surged through him. He craved it. Brushing the tall stalks aside as he walked, he wrestled with it. With no idea where they were, where the crime scene was, he wished out loud he brought the GPS with him. God help him, he stopped right there, dead in his tracks, forcing himself to get out of his head and focus on the crime.

"Here you can be the periscope?"

She must have felt it too, the electricity of that night lingering, pushing it's way from the past into the present. He saw it in her eyes when she backed up several steps and shook her head, every bit of her giving him an emphatic no.

"Uh, no thanks." She insisted.

But she came, with a deep breath and a wary look in her eye, she put her foot in his hands and her hands on his shoulders, and he hoisted her up. All in the name of perspective. Maybe this was a test, maybe he did it not just to find the crime scene but subconsciously to prove to himself that what he felt for her, that pull of attraction, was nothing but the pain killers and trauma of that day all jumbled together in one hell of a night.

If so, it backfired because there it was again, that same sensation. She slid down, slipping through his hands as he tried to steady her until she landed, so close, inches apart, face to face. Time froze, they froze, and her chatter stopped. Standing like that, with her, it was hard to feel lost. His hands lingered, tightening ever so slightly on her hips, a little too long for partners or friends. Their eyes connected in that same old silent dance of theirs. He could hear her breathe, felt the intensity of her stare, and, in that moment, true to their old selves, neither of them said a word.

There was something else in her eyes, though, something he saw more and more, a hesitancy which broke his heart. Swallowing hard, she choked down her feelings for fear she'd lose him all over again if she admitted them, and he watched her do it. He hated that she'd become so careful with him. These days she hid more than she revealed. He missed the transparency they once shared.

"What?" Confused, Booth turned his head sharply toward her.

She asked him something or said something, he wasn't sure. Lost in thought, whatever it was it didn't register, just startled him back to reality. They were nearly halfway to her apartment and he didn't remember anything past leaving the bar. He was driving on automatic, muscle memory from years traveling the same roads.

"Is Hannah home yet?" She repeated. "You said she was working late."

"Oh, yeah...no. I texted her right before we left, she's still at work, gonna be a while. Something about a filibuster and the threat of a Presidential veto. She's says she's a victim of the twenty-four hour news cycle." Booth chuckled lightly, it sounded hollow, even to him.

Bones nodded, then turned her attention back out the window. That was her attempt at small talk. She made several of them since leaving the Founding Fathers, each died quickly after a couple back and forths. Turning his attention back to the road, he whispered, "right."

He missed the warmth of the bar, the soft chatter of the patrons, the comfortable feel of the evening. Like the diner, it was theirs. They should've stayed longer, he lamented, as he looked back over at her. It was his idea to leave, she validated it, excusing away the chance for more time together by telling him it was a good idea. She needed to get some writing in and he needed to get home to Hannah, surely she would want to spend some time with him too.

The woman who thought she didn't have an open heart, but always put the needs of others, especially him, above her own. Except he wasn't at all sure that's what he needed. In the face of a cold night, he wanted the warmth of the evening back, the ease he felt as he led her through the crowd to the table like he had a million times before. A nudge in the right direction, the tips of his fingers barely brushing the back of her overcoat. There was so much to celebrate, more than just the successful end of another case. They were "them" again. Relaxed with each other, natural, throughout the whole case. They joked and laughed and swapped theories, bantered back and forth, all with ease. It felt good, better than good, it felt great. Being there with her, in a place where he could raise his hand and holler to the bartender to bring them their usual seemed like the perfect end to the perfect case.

Booth settled in at their table, ready to relax, but Bones, she wasn't done with the case yet. He could see it build in her, the confusion as she mentally tried to reason out the concept of love. Cam and her doctor friend's relationship was right there in front of them, she couldn't help watch them from across the bar, comparing them to their victim and his sister wives.

They used to talk after a case. Bones, she would take it all in, every little detail, then when it was over process it all. Evidence, details, facts, she'd spit them out and he'd help her understand all the social and emotional implications which always seemed just beyond her reach, bridging the gap for her. Lowering her guard, she'd allow him to see her most vulnerable thoughts and feelings. It was their own brand of intimacy and he missed it.

Like everything else, that changed when they returned to DC. They didn't do that anymore, didn't go there, in fact, they barely even celebrated at the end of a case. Looking at her, he wondered if she missed all that too. Knowing, even if she wanted to go there with him again, she wouldn't initiate. She was too careful these days.

That was okay, Booth was ready and welcomed the opportunity. He'd been thinking about it since they walked out of their victim's family home on that first visit, knowing that love would be at the center of this case. He waited for this, the opportunity to say things to her he couldn't say outright, and so he led the conversation.

"So, this case proves, two's company."

Opening the door, which she graciously walked through on her own, he let the conversation deepen until he could guide it in the direction he desperately wanted it to go. Each answer leading her to another question, building on one another, until he could deliver a personal message from him to her, a carefully couched message. The one he hoped would reach past her defenses and touch her heart.

"What it means, Bones, is you can love a lot of people in this world but there's only one person that you love the most."

"How do you know?"

She asked him, adding some scientific mumbo jumbo to make her confusion sound valid and justified. He let her lay out her science, confessing her worry that she'd never be able to tell the difference between elusive notion of love and what she knew was a chemical reaction. She trusted him enough to ask him how and he gave her the last answer she wanted to hear.

"You just do."

Directing her attention across the bar towards Cam and her boyfriend, he stole a long lingering look, jerking his gaze away just in time for her to wonder if she caught him or if it was her imagination. That was supposed to be the end of it, right there. He just wanted her to know that she was the one he loved the most, regardless of who he was with, regardless of whether anything ever worked out between them, she would always be the one he loved the most, his Bones, his standard. But, she wasn't the same woman, she was bolder, and she blindsided him with a question so raw, so vulnerable that it pierced him straight through his heart.

"What if you let that person get away?"

Booth answered without thinking, no brain, all heart.

"That person's not goin' anywhere."

There was a moment where they connected completely, eyes locked, hearts pounding at the clear message sent and received between them. They dropped it there, quickly covering, it was enough for now, had to be.

Pulling the SUV to a stop in front of her apartment complex, there was so much he wanted to say, but nothing came, he just sat there watching as she gathered her belongings. He wasn't ready for the night to end, but realized it needed to. His eyes darted over her, everything that felt perfectly right between them, grew complicated and heavy under the weight of their acknowledgement.

"Let me walk you up." He finally said, his voice tender and soft.

"No, I'm fine from here, Booth." She was out of the truck now, standing there with her arms full. Smiling sweetly, she thanked him and said good night. He watched her until she was all the way into her building, past the security desk, juggling her bags as she pressed the elevator button. He couldn't seem to pull himself away. She looked over her shoulder while she waited, waved through the plate glass windows as she stepped into the elevator and disappeared. Booth sat there, let out a long held breath, put the truck in gear, and drove away.

 _What if you let that person get away?_ Pure honesty, without guile, his heart clenched as her words rang in his ears. And tied to her question, his answer, _that_ _person's not goin' anywhere_. It felt like a promise.

God, he had no idea how he was going to keep that promise, but he knew he needed to find a way.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: I always have so much I want to say in these author's notes and then I sit down to write them and...I can't remember any of it...

Happy Thursday! I am so grateful for all the feedback and love I've received for the chapters I've posted and this story so far. I feel it and boy let me tell you, it has made writing so much easier. Reviews are food for the writer's soul. I also want to thank Kickster28 for the sweet reminder message that it is indeed Thursday and time to post. That put a big smile on my face while I was out in the ridiculous heat running errands.

I meant to mention in the author's notes for chapter 2 that the scene when Brennan is standing outside the diner with the shell to her ear is where the title of this story comes from and why there are ocean quotes at the beginning of each chapter. (I've never done anything like putting a quote before a chapter before - do you like it? I fell in love with some of the quotes I found) I love that scene, her innocence, his troubled look of adoration, it get's me every time!

I love this episode too, The Sin in the Sisterhood, I think when it originally aired it brought such hope to a Hannah-weary fanbase. I love the way he looks at her, the barely missed back and forth glances they both steal. Ah...gets me every time!

Please leave a review, let me know what you think of this chapter and the story so far, I am anxious to know what you think!

Much Love

~DG


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

"There are times when the ocean is not the ocean - not blue, not even water, but some violent explosion of energy and danger: ferocity on a scale only gods can summon. It hurls itself at the island, sending spray right over the top of the lighthouse, biting pieces off the cliff. And the sound is a roaring of a beast whose anger knows no limits. Those are the nights the light is needed most."

― **M. L. Stedman - The Light Between Oceans**

It seemed like a brilliant idea at the time, but then again, he was drunk. Drunk and listening to Sweets, which turned out to be an awful combination. Booth rolled over, groaning and pulling a pillow up over his head to shield himself from streams of morning light seeping in through his blinds. God, it was bright. It was his second hangover in as many days and his body was exacting its revenge.

Laying there in the quiet of his apartment it felt like reality was assaulting him. His bed was empty, Hannah was gone, and Bones was, well, Bones. He rubbed his hands across his face, pushing them up into his hair, fisting handfuls and tugging before letting go. Bones. God. He didn't even know where to start with that, the way they left things, he didn't know what to expect. He'd deal with that later, when he could think clearer. Rolling over on his side, he tried to hide from the light. He just wanted to go back to sleep, wake up and have it all be some sort of wretched nightmare, not his life.

Letting out a long, deep sigh, he closed his eyes. He couldn't blame it all on the boy or the booze. It was time to man up, it was him, he needed to take responsibility for it, all of it. For a couple a weeks his conversation with Bones haunted him, _that person's not going anywhere_ echoed in his head, constantly present, constantly niggling at him. Everyday it got worse, with every interaction louder, until it didn't matter whether it was Bones or Hannah he was talking to or thinking about, it was there, demanding his attention, begging for resolution.

But, as far as he could see there was no solution. He couldn't just break up with Hannah, not after telling her that there was nothing between him and Bones anymore. Well, he could, and maybe he should, but it felt like he couldn't. Plus, he loved her, not as much as Bones, he finally acknowledged that, but there was love there. He was happy with her and she was so goddamn easy to be in a relationship with.

Bones, she was just so complicated, but he couldn't resist the pull of her. He was convinced, if he stayed with Hannah, he would always have feelings for Bones, they were never going away. But, there was no guarantees with her. What if he ended things with Hannah, would Bones still want him and even if she did want him, would she be ready to be in a relationship with him? She said she was going to move on, what if she did?

Truth. He didn't believe that, not for a second. The way she looked at him that night in the Founding Fathers, _what if you let that person get away_ , God, he would never forget that, never. Those eyes, those beautiful, stormy eyes of hers, and when he answered, it was too real, the most honest exchange between them, maybe ever. He knew, he knew what she meant and she knew his intentions when he answered. It was a promise. He made her a promise.

He made her a promise and he couldn't keep it while he was still in a relationship with Hannah. His mind rolled back and forth for weeks over these two strong, beautiful women in his life, searching for a solution that wouldn't hurt either of them, one where he could keep his integrity and honor. He wanted to do right by them, both of them. Back and forth, day and night, to no avail. Bones. Hannah. Bones.

God, what a mess he made of things.

Then Sweets happened, Sweets and copious amounts of alcohol. He was rambling on about life and love and marriage and not wanting to be like Booth. At first it stung, and then it hit him. Marriage, marriage was the answer. His brain was foggy from the alcohol and he wasn't exactly sure how this was going to work, but he ran with it, right then and there he made a commitment. He was going to ask Hannah to marry him. Sweets was going to ask Daisy and he was going to ask Hannah and they were going to go pick out their rings together.

Just like that, another promise to keep.

Booth could get out of it if he wanted to, he knew that. After he sobered up he thought about it, but for some twisted reason asking Hannah to marry him made sense. The way things were, he was stuck. Nothing was moving. This would change things, for better or for worse, it would change things.

All those years in catechism and Catholic school paid off, he knew his bible. Asking Hannah to marry him was an Old Testament solution to his problem. It was like the story of Rebekah. Abraham's servant was sent to find Isaac a wife and he prayed, right? Prayed that God would send the right woman to him and he would know her because she would be the woman who offered to give him, a traveler, and his camels water at the well. Easy, right?

Just go to the well and wait, the first woman to come offer him water would be Isaac's wife, the one God wanted him to have, right?

He would ask Hannah to marry him and if she said no, well, then they weren't meant to be, that would be the end of them. Problem solved. No confessions, no sitting down and talking about his feelings for Bones. He wouldn't be rejecting Hannah, Hannah would be rejecting him, it would be her choice. And if she said yes, well, then that was an answer in itself, right? Because he wanted marriage, marriage and a family, a house and a yard and a picket fence, the whole nine yards.

So, he did it. He bought the ring, the most beautiful one he could find, more than he could afford, nonrefundable, and made the plans. The night was cool and stars twinkled in the sky, reflecting in the water fountain in front of him. It was perfect. And when he saw Hannah walking towards him, bright eyes, the picture of ease and comfort, he couldn't wait any longer, not for the restaurant, not for dinner or drinks or anything else. He asked her right then and there, right where they stood.

Of course, nothing is really ever that easy. Nothing.

Bones was at home when she got the call, leaning against the arm of her couch with her legs curled underneath her as she nursed a glass of wine. She and Booth skipped their post case celebration, he already had plans with Hannah. She understood. They were going to celebrate later, after the weekend, with a special lunch or maybe drinks after work one day when Hannah was working late. That was Booth's suggestion, which was interesting to her because they missed post case celebrations before, lots of them since returning to DC, and he never made a point of rescheduling.

When she saw that caller ID she immediately began to worry. Hannah was with Booth, so why would Hannah be calling her? Sometimes her mind was too fast for her own good, in the time it took to reach for the phone and answer it she'd already gone through hundreds of scenarios, none of them good, all of them centering on Booth being hurt or injured to the point where he couldn't call her himself.

In a way, that was true.

Hannah told her about the proposal, shocked that Temperance knew nothing about it. She told her about her refusal, about her conversation with him, told her she was at his apartment packing, getting ready to leave. Temperance kept trying to get her to talk faster, to get to the point faster, but Hannah wouldn't be rushed. She wanted the support of a friend, another strong woman who wasn't the marrying kind, but her loyalties belonged to Booth, they always had, and the only thing she wanted from Hannah was to know was where he was. Hannah didn't know. After that, she rushed to get off the phone. She needed to find him.

He felt her, when she walked in the door of the Founding Fathers, he knew it was her and part of him tensed, holding his drink tighter, letting his eyes fall closed. He wasn't ready to deal with her, not yet. He wouldn't be at the damn bar if he wasn't waiting to go home until Hannah was gone, but there he was, drowning his sorrows, aggravated because he wanted to be alone and the whole damn bar was filled with couples, happy couples, and he couldn't seem to make any relationship work, not even with someone as easy to be with as Hannah. And now Bones was there, which meant she knew, and she'd wanna talk about it. He didn't want to talk about it.

Halting when she walked through the door, she watched for a moment, taken by the sight of him slumped over. Even from where she stood he appeared broken. Booth cringed, as her footsteps fell closer and closer to where he was sitting. He shook off the burn of his last shot or maybe he was trying to shake her off. He tried to hide it, but as a student of kinesiology she could see the tension in his body as she walked up and sat next to him. She wanted to be casual about it, not knowing what to say, but knowing she needed to say something, even if it was the wrong thing.

So, she asked if he was drunk, small talk, which was not her fortey, and when he answered she was overwhelmed by the tone in his voice. She wished more than anything she was better at this, at knowing how to help. But, she wasn't, she could only stumble through and hope that the fact that she was there would count for something, that it would be enough.

Jaw ticking, his frustration flared when she mentioned that Hannah called. While he said he was over it, over her, nothing about his reaction confirmed that. Blinking, over and over, he wrestled for control of his emotions, choking them back as best he could. She watched him fight, trying to keep tears from falling. This strong stoic man, her partner, her friend, the only man she ever wanted to love, ever allowed herself to love. All she wanted to do was wrap her arms around him and comfort him. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out anyway to let him know she was there for him short of saying it outright which seemed contrived.

"So, what happens next?"

Her question was quiet and hesitant and she regretted asking it even as it passed over her lips. Under normal circumstances he'd school his own emotions, considering her need above his own. Patiently, he'd explain what was happening, what he was feeling, and why. He couldn't do that for her, not this time. Pulling her eyes away, she found herself looking anywhere but directly at him as resentment rose up within him and quelled his tears.

He was angry, he said so, and she could see it, but she saw more than that when she looked at him, felt it too. Underneath his hard exterior, his visible ire, she saw pain, he was hurting. It filled her with rage, not toward him, toward Hannah on his behalf. This was the very thing she warned her about when she first arrived in DC and it happened just as she feared it would. Booth gave his all to Hannah and now he was suffering because of it.

Hannah wasn't there for him to direct his anger at, she would be gone from his apartment soon and halfway around the world by tomorrow. Good riddance. Rebecca was an old wound, he figured out a long time ago that her refusal was for the best, just as Pops warned him. Plus, she was the mother of his child and like it or not he needed to maintain a working relationship with her. Which left Bones, sitting right there beside him, the woman he loved the most, who refused him then changed her goddamn mind. Tangled in the middle of his heartstrings, no matter where he started it ended with her. The whys and what ifs she inspired fueled this whole mess.

In his quiet rage, with the tremble of heavy emotion in his voice, he drew new lines limiting their relationship to partners only. Partners. That was her only choice. Her heart pounded wildly in her chest as he definitively laid it out for her, there was no room for interpretation. She could stay and have a drink with him as his partner and nothing else or she could leave and they would be over, he'd find her a new partner. Her choice.

She would never leave.

So, she stayed, no more mention of Hannah or her or relationships. He put up a good front, acting like there was nothing else going on, though she watch it boil just underneath the surface. And when he was done, she drove him home.

He was staggering by the time they got to his apartment. Leaning on her heavily in the elevator, he didn't say anything when she took the keys out of his hands and opened the front door for him. Partners. Partners did that for one another, she reassured herself, already fearful she'd inadvertently cross the line. He'd done it for her on more than one occasion. She would do it for him.

Booth stopped short after entering his apartment. It was different, darker, colder somehow. And even though Hannah didn't come with much and left with everything, it felt so much emptier. All that stamped down emotion rose right back up. He started to rant, barely comprehensible, but loud and biting.

"You, you, you did this." He was mumbling and she was trying her best to understand. "This, this is you, it's all...it's all you." He made a broad sweeping motion, seemingly pointing to everything in his apartment then stopped and looked right at her. "It was so hot, Bones, so...so...so goddamn hot. I forgot, you know, I forgot."

Pausing, he just looked at her. He forgot, when he reenlisted, he forgot how lonely the military was, though he wasn't about to tell her that, he wasn't that drunk. Closing his eyes momentarily, he continued.

"I forgot how...how...how hot… all that sand...it's gets so goddamn hot." Her eyes grew wide, his pain so evident. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat, not sure whether to say something or just listen. "And...and...you didn't...nothing...I got nothing...right? Nothing from you. You...you….left me."

"Booth." Just a whisper, barely audible, but he heard it and shouted in response.

"NO….No….You left, you lef me...and...and...and then you change your mind like it was nothing, like...like...like I was nothing. What was I supposed to do, Bones? What, tell me what?"

He stopped abruptly, walked across the room, picked up a picture of him and Hannah in front of the Lincoln Memorial, and just stared at it.

"Booth."

She wanted to apologize, he could hear it in the way she said his name. Looking up from the picture, he caught her eyes, holding them captive. It seemed like forever, they stood there in his dimly lit apartment, eyes locked. She shifted her weight back and forth, nervous, she pulled her teeth across her lip. He gripped that picture tighter and tighter, trying to control his emotions, until the frame snapped in his hands, glass and wood splintering, fell around his feet.

"Why? For godsakes, why? Why...I don't...I just...why...why wasn't I good enough, Bones? Why?"

Looking down at the broken glass, he dropped what was left of the frame and the pictures, stepping over the mess on the way to his bedroom. He was through the door in only a few steps and she was right behind him.

"Booth."

But she was too late. Turning, he looked straight at her, then slammed the door in her face.

He was so tired. Turning his back to the door, he meant to strip and crawl right into bed, but he didn't. He stayed there, letting his body go limp against the hardwood and his eyes close. He just needed to breath, just breath, and then he'd go to bed.

Stepping forward until she was toe to toe with the door, she reached out and put her hand on it. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she let out a heavy sigh, and just stood there for what seemed like forever. There was so much she wanted to say, but no one to say it to. It didn't matter, she decided, she needed to say it anyway. She wasn't loud, didn't yell to make sure she was heard, but she wasn't quiet either, she wasn't trying to hide behind a whisper.

"I'm so sorry, Booth. I never meant to hurt you." Her voice shuttered, her breath ragged and weak left her stumbling over her words. "It...it was never you...I…I...was just scared. I was afraid you wanted something I couldn't give you, something I didn't think I was capable of and the thought of hurting you...of me causing you pain because of my own shortcomings...how could I let that happen?"

He was sure she didn't know he could hear her, but it was an old apartment with thin walls and a transom window above the door. He heard her, every word. Holding his breath, he listened, trying hard not to move or make a sound. He didn't want her to know he was right there on the other side of the door. He didn't want her to change what she had to say because she knew he was listening.

"I'm not good at this, at people and relationships, I know that. You know that. And you deserved so much more than me, so much more than what I thought I could give you." Letting her head fall against the door with a soft thud, she gasped for air, desperately trying to get the rest of what she wanted to say out through her quiet sobs. "You...you...you deserve all the things you want, Booth, someone who can love you like you loved me, someone that can make you happy."

Squeezing her eyes shut, she pushed herself to finish, to say everything she wanted him to know but could never say to his face.

"That's what I wanted for you. You deserve that, more than that, you deserve more than me." He felt it, the physical pain of her words rang through his body. "I was scared, Booth, I thought I was protecting you, I just wanted to protect you, but it didn't matter, I hurt you anyway."

She stayed there a minute before standing up straight, brushed the tears from her cheeks, and took a deep breath letting it out in one quick huff of air. That was it, all she had left. Grabbing her bag, she left, closing the door softly behind her and locking it.

He let her go. Pushing off the door, he striped, crawling into his cold, empty bed. He just wanted it to be over, the whole horrible night. It didn't take long to fall asleep even though he was restless and he slept hard, thanks to the alcohol.

Night became early morning, early morning turned into midday, he woke, no miracle, everything was just the same as when he went to sleep. It would be for awhile, he knew that, having been through it too many times. Eventually the anger would go away and the pain would ease. Maybe then he'd think about all the stuff Bones said to him through the door.

But, not today.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: I know...it's awful...and I'm sorry for that. If it's any consolation I am posting this today (early) so that I can post the next chapter on Thursday. I didn't want to leave you lovely and loyal readers hanging too long on the sad note this chapter ends on. I'm having an angiogram on Friday (I know it's a routine procedure but I'm still nervous) and I don't want to be worrying about posting the next chapter this weekend.

Please leave a review, this chapter has me anxious, I know it was a rough one but they've hit bottom now and will start to fight their way up from here. I promise, if you stick with me on this and the reward will be worth it. I just think this was a process for them, not a quick fix where they fell easily into each other's arms, although, secretly I wanted that to be the way it happened. There are some chapters where it seems like I'm going episode by episode through the season. I'm not, in fact the next chapter isn't tied to any episode, and there will be more chapters like that to come.

Thank you to snowybones who is worth her weight in chocolate (more valuable than gold in my book) She's been a trooper through this story, always offering up great help and encouragement.

Thank you for all the support for this story, I've really enjoyed reading your reviews and private messages (going to try and answer some of those today). Every time I get a new follow or favorite I smile. It all keeps me posting! Whether you loved this chapter or are forming an angry mob complete with pitchforks and torches, let me know. I love the feedback!

Much love

~DG


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

"Sometimes, the ocean floor is only a stop on the journey. And it is when you are at this lowest point, that you are faced with a choice. You can stay there at the bottom, until you drown. Or you can gather pearls and rise back up — stronger from the swim and richer from the jewels."

― **Yasmin Mogahed** , **Reclaim Your Heart: Personal Insights on Breaking Free from Life's Shackles**

Partners from the Latin word _partitio_ , a sharing; the Middle English word _parcener_ , meaning joint heir. In more modern terms, a colleague, associate, or co-worker, someone with whom one joins, sharing risks and profits. That seemed to fit.

"Me and you are partners. That's what we do." Booth said that to her at the Founding Fathers last night and more than anything in the world she wanted to hold him to it.

Ironically, the word partner also means, a lover, someone a person has sex with, a member of a married couple or an established unmarried couple. That didn't fit them, though thinking about it filled her with a sense of loss and caused a deep ache in the center of her chest.

She needed something firm to hold onto, boundaries, structure, clear instructions. But, considering the etymology and meaning of the word partner wasn't helping her figure out how she should interact with Booth now that he set new parameters for her, for their relationship as partners and friends. Her mind turned in circles following the same course again and again. Did he even consider her a friend after last night? She didn't know. He was so angry, angrier than she could remember seeing him in all the years of their partnership, certainly angrier than he'd ever been at her.

Tensing at the thought, she forced herself to breathe and relax. Her shoulders fell, her body went limp, exhausted from holding itself tight for so long. She spent the morning trying to distract herself from her worries over Booth with no measurable success. She ran errands, stopped by the lab, engaged in some rather vigorous deep cleaning, went to the gym, none of it helped. Her mind kept returning to him, to the awful way they left things, to those definitions to find some sort of comfort.

In all her mental meandering she found one useful denotation for the word partner that struck her, although her interpretation was admittedly metaphorical, not literal. A nautical definition, _partner(s)_ heavy timbers that strengthen a ship's deck to support the mast. Booth needed support. That's the kind of partner she wanted to be for him, the kind that would strengthen and support him.

By lunchtime she found herself openly fretful and searched for a reason to contact him. If she could check on him, she reasoned, she could make sure he was okay and alleviate some of her stress.

At 12:57pm his phone buzzed.

When he saw the message was from Bones he hesitated. He didn't want to talk about last night. Letting his eyes fall momentarily shut, he held his breath, his finger hovering over her name as he tried to decide whether to open her message or not. His queasy stomach churned as he stared down at his phone. Head pounding, the constant pressure behind his eyes made them feel like they were swollen and bulging, his thoughts still jumbled and thick, he felt like crap. But it was Bones. He couldn't ignore her.

 _I can't find the paperwork for the Dustin Rottenberg case. I was going to get started on my part of it this afternoon. Do you know where it is?_

Booth let out a loud sigh of relief. Work. He could do work.

 _I have it._

He brought it home with him, thinking he would catch up with Bones on the weekend to hammer it out.

 _Can I get it from you?_

Staring at the message, his jaw ticked, and he shook his head back and forth. He didn't really want to see her, not yet. It was all too fresh, the pain, the anger, and now that he was sober, regret was settling in. There was no question he needed to deal with it, all of it, but he wanted some space first. He needed a little time. Pinching his nose, he sucked in a heavy breath. Why was it so goddamn hard to breath. It was supposed to be automatic, you weren't supposed to have to think about it, it was something your body just did, not forced, but it felt forced, like it wouldn't happen if he didn't remind himself to do it.

He answered her last text so quickly, but this one seemed like it was taking forever. With every passing second her heart pounded harder and faster. Fear consumed her. She hated that, she wanted to be unaffected by such things, but learned a long time ago she couldn't compartmentalize Booth, no matter how hard she tried.

Finally her phone dinged, she jumped to see his response.

 _I'm home, stop by anytime._

For the first time all day she took a deep breath, nodding at her phone as she rushed off to change clothes.

Her knock was distinctive. Trying to act casual, he opened the door wide ushering her in. Closing the door behind her, she turned, making no effort to move past the doorway. That familiarity and comfort that allowed her to walk freely into his apartment making herself at home was gone, suspended in the remnants of their drunken exchange. Pulling her lip between her teeth she stopped, then let it go almost immediately, it was raw and sore where she nibbled it raw over the last twenty-four hours.

Booth left her standing there, mumbling something about getting the file from his bedroom. He looked terrible, like he just rolled out of bed. Deep circles under his eyes, mussed hair, heavy stubble. She watched as he sniffled, swallowing hard before he walked away. Still in his bedclothes, old sweats hung low on his hip, a faded FBI shirt, he was barefoot. With few exceptions, he never looked like this. This did nothing but confirm her concern for him.

She barely moved, a step forward to peer into his living room, to the side, to look into his kitchen. Shards of glass and the crumpled up picture visible in his kitchen trash can, the broom and dustpan still leaning against it. Flashes of the whole horrible scene played out in her memory. Distracted, she didn't see him until he was right in front of her, handing her the file.

She jumped a little, startled, he hated that. He did that to her, he knew it.

"Thank you." She forced a smile, pretending like everything was normal. "I wanted to get a head start on it, next week's busy."

Playing along, he answered.

"No problem." But, he held the folder, not letting go immediately, like he wanted to say something. When she looked up she saw it in his eyes, the hint of an apology. She tried to let him see that it was okay, that they were okay, because she wanted, more than anything, for that to be the truth. "You going back to the lab?" Clearing her throat, she inhaled sharply.

"No...no, I think I'm going to go back to my place. I have access to all the files, my laptop's there."

"Right." He finally let go. "Good." His eyes dropped, she turned, motioning with the file as she reached for the door.

She made it all the way down the hall and around the corner before she leaned up against the wall and tried to catch her breath, fighting off a wave of emotion. That's when she finally heard his door close. If she could just know what he was thinking, what he needed. Objectively, she recognized that she wasn't very objective when it came to Booth. It would take great effort to pull back from this situation enough to be reasonable about it. Mentally counting, she compiled a short list about the way Booth handled problems as she rode the old open cage elevator down to street level.

First, as much as Booth hated silence he didn't like to talk about personal things, especially not his feelings. He was a very private person. If she was expecting for him to open up about his proposal to Hannah, well, it wasn't going to happen, not anytime soon anyway. And she was too close to that situation, too entangled in the roots of it, he wouldn't necessarily talk to her about it because he wouldn't want to hurt her feelings or cause her pain.

Second, Booth liked to pretend like everything was okay when clearly it wasn't. It helped him cope, so he would say he was over Hannah even when it was highly unlikely he was. As if saying it was all good, made it all good. It was interesting to her, and she noted, that Booth made a point of telling her that people in relationships left marks on one another and it took time for those marks to heal and fade away. Whether he was over Hannah or not, she knew he would need time to heal from the marks Hannah left.

Third, for those reasons, work was safe. He could avoid all things personal. He liked to throw himself into his work, much like herself, especially when he was trying to avoid dealing with the harder parts of life. The fact that he saw her, gave her the file, and talked to her, even though their interaction was brief, those were good signs. He wasn't going to completely block her out of his life. That was a relief. She could be patient. She could be a support to him, in the ways he would let her, in ways she knew would help. This would work.

Flopping the Rottenberg file in the passenger seat, she drove home.

She also found solace in work, it was something they shared. With papers spread out across her kitchen table, her laptop open, and jazz softly playing in the background, she plodded away at the case work. It was easier after she saw him, the awful dread that she would lose him from her life completely eased.

The bright light of day passed, the warm peachy glow of evening came and went, and night settled in.

Startled, she jumped when she heard his knock. She wasn't expecting company, certainly not Booth, figuring it would take days before he voluntarily contacted her. But there he was, standing at her door, a stack of case files and a shallow box filled with Chinese take-out.

"Hey." He looked nervous. "I figured, you know, if you were still working on the Rottenberg paperwork…" Letting his voice trail off, his thought hung in the air incomplete, then picked it back up again as he searched for some kind of acceptance from her. "I brought food." He smiled and lifted the box a little, a peace offering.

Truth was he couldn't bare being in his apartment any longer. He left in the early evening, went for a long run, stopped by the FBI gym, did a weight training circuit, hit the shooting range, showered, went grocery shopping. The more he was out, the more he didn't want to go home. There was nothing there for him, nothing but pain.

She smiled and opened the door up wide.

He watched as she headed for the kitchen. In the past, before Maluku and Afghanistan and Hannah, this was routine for them. Spreading the case work out on the coffee table, they'd start out sitting on the couches and by the time they were done they'd both be on the floor. A couple beers for him, some wine for her, their friendship was built on a foundation of hours spent laughing and talking as they worked late into the night.

He missed that, the way they used to be together. When he was first in Afghanistan it was those memories that kept him alive. Hannah changed everything between them, especially after she followed him back from Afghanistan, more than he realized or wanted to admit.

For a brief moment he panicked. What the hell was he thinking? Coming over, like this, like none of it ever happened. He didn't even know if this was okay with her after whatever that was between them last night or if she was just being polite. It wasn't really a fight, they didn't fight, he lost his shit and blamed her and she, she, God that confession, that admission. He wanted to talk to her about it, he wanted to tell her he was sorry, but honest to God didn't know how to do that. He needed some more time to figure that out.

Setting the food and files down on the coffee table he stretched, leaning his head side to side until his neck popped in each direction.

"I can help...you…with...," distracted, he paused in the middle of his thought, an open photo album captivating his attention, "with the…drinks." It didn't look like anything that would belong to her but she was in almost every picture he could see. It was fluffy and pink with sparkles and crap, lying there on the table with a partially drunk glass of wine. She must've been looking at it when he knocked on the door.

"It's okay, Booth, I've got it." Stopping short, she found him sitting on the couch, leaning over the open pages of the album. "Ms. Wick made it for me." She walked around, setting plates, silverware, and a bottle of beer down before reaching for the album. "I found it when I was cleaning today." His eyes followed her as she pulled the scrapbook away until they caught her eyes. She was anxious, he could see it in the way she closed the book and folded it in close to her chest. "They're pictures from our dig in Maluku."

A folded piece of paper fell out of the album and floated down to the ground. It was a letter written on thin paper, the kind meant for international mail that folds and seals to become its own envelope. Dirty and crumpled, it looked like someone took great care in pressing it flat and refolding it for safekeeping. They both bent down to pick it up at the same time. Booth reached it first, picking it up.

His heart nearly stopped when he saw his own name scrawled out in her careful handwriting, _Sergeant Major Seeley Booth_. All those months, in all that time, there was nothing from her, no letters, no calls or emails. Some of that he understood, rationalizing it away for her, she was in a jungle for godsake. But this, what he held in his hand, even without knowing what it said, told a different story. His stomach twisted into a hard knot. Raw emotion coursed through him as he considered the harsh words and accusations he hurled at her in his drunken rant. God. All that time he thought she didn't care, thought he meant nothing to her. He should've known that wasn't true.

Looking up, he watched as her eyes fell shut. She knew he saw his name on it, he could tell. Giving her a moment, he waited until she opened those stormy blue eyes of hers then handed it back without saying a word. Someday he'd ask about it, but not today. Swallowing hard, she thanked him quietly, tucked it carefully back in the book, and stepped away.

By the time she got back he was dishing up the food. It seemed like such a simple act, serving up food, but she found the normalcy comforting. Relief in her eyes, she smiled, soft and weak, but still a smile. It was reassuring and Booth took it as a good sign. This was going to be hard and it would take time but he refused to lose her.

"I got you something different." Lifting up the take out box and waggling it a little, he smiled back at her. "Kung Pao tofu with broccoli and brown rice, hope you like it."

"Looks good. I love broccoli." Stopping at the edge of the coffee table she sighed, letting her shoulders fall. "I think I'm going to have some scotch." It was just that kind of night. Reaching over she grabbed her wine glass and headed for the kitchen, calling out to him over her shoulder. "Do you want some too?"

"Yeah, sure, maybe just a little."

They ate and worked, most of the time in silence, but it got easier as the night rolled on.

After a few hours, she yawned, he didn't notice how exhausted she looked until that moment. The edges of her eyelids were pink, irritated from crying he figured. Her lips looked raw, he remembered watching her pull them between her teeth, worrying them nervously. Her hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail with wisps falling down, framing her face and neck. It looked like she hadn't given it any attention all day, which wasn't like her. But it was more than that, her whole body looked tired and every action looked like it took great effort. He understood, he felt it too, completely drained.

It was time to call it a night.

They made plans for a repeat the next day, late in the afternoon. After Booth took Parker to mass and spent some time with him they would meet at his place. She would bring dinner this time and they'd finish up what was left of the paperwork.

He left shortly after that and when she closed the door behind him she let her forehead fall against it. _Partner, someone with whom one joins, sharing risks and profits._ Maybe those definitions were more accurate than she originally thought.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: I don't know how to properly convey my thanks to all of you lovely readers. All the wonderful reviews and well wishes have made this week so wonderful. I feel so much support and love and I am very grateful for it. As of right now, my plan is to go back to Thursdays for posting the next chapter.

I've loved reading your thoughts and reactions to this story so far, please keep 'em coming, it adds to the sense that we're in this journey together.

Much Love

~DG


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

"You are loved deeper than any ocean. Let your mind swim through it's depth because I will never let you drown."

― **Shannon L. Alder**

Valentine's Day, not even two weeks after his failed proposal and breakup with Hannah. Ten days. That wasn't fair. And to add insult to injury, the victim was a wedding planner. That's right, weddings, love, jealousy, marriage, that's what he dealt with all day on Valentine's Day, ten days after breaking up with Hannah. Ten days. Karma was kicking his ass.

Served him right for thinking a marriage proposal was the way to fix his conflicted heart, Booth thought as he gathered up his belongings and headed downstairs to the FBI firing range.

He sent one love packing and the other one, well, that was as complicated as the woman herself. Just the thought of her, God, how could one woman evoke so many different emotions, none of them passive, not one? He wasn't ready to deal with that, not while he was still working through the whole Hannah mess.

Of course, maybe this case was God's way of pointing out how lucky he was Hannah said no because this wedding party and the people planning it were jacked up, every single one of them. Certainly more of an argument for Bones' view of love and relationships than his own.

Letting out a heavy sigh, Booth waved to Manny, the firing range supervisor, as he passed by. The place was a tomb, not surprising given that it was 7:00 p.m. on Valentine's Day and just about everyone who's anyone was out celebrating, paired off, a city of happy romantic couples. Not him, he was alone. That was okay, his choice, just the way he wanted it, he reminded himself. Alone, at the firing range. Perfect.

Booth let his eyes fall shut slowly.

Truth. More than anything else, he didn't want to be home. He felt that way a lot lately, driven from his own apartment, _his_ space. He missed the warmth and comfort of someone to come home to, someone to share his life with, to connect. The contrast still too fresh, he couldn't be home without the sense of loss overwhelming him. Worse, in some ways, he was starting to realize he missed the companionship more than Hannah. That bothered him. It shouldn't be that way. Booth took a long deep breath, letting it out slowly. Either way, it would be worse tonight. Being alone sucked, being alone on Valentine's Day sucked more.

No, the firing range was the perfect place for him.

Booth pulled up the first target, his loud scoffing laugh echoed through the empty range. Manny had a great sense of humor. There was some kind of frilly valentine taped to every target. Booth emptied his clip, ripping to shreds a lacy pink heart, and reloaded. This place brought him a measure of solace. He could think here, while his body got lost in the repetitive task his mind could work on some of the mess he made of his life.

On the outskirts of DC, in a beautiful hotel decorated beyond what Booth could ever imagine or afford, Reyna Ericson was tying the knot. The bride in the case they just solved, wow, she was everything he hated about people of privilege. As he took aim at the paper target in front of him, Booth couldn't get over the fact that someone like that, a self proclaimed bitch, could find love and he, basically a good guy, at least trying to be, kept striking out.

He couldn't blame Hannah, not really, even though he wanted to. She was right, she told him she never wanted to marry multiple times. Free and easy, that was her, a good time girl when it came to love and relationships. That was great when he was alone in Afghanistan, drowning in sand. It was perfect, she was just what he needed, at least he thought she was.

Hot and sweaty, covered in a thin layer of dirt he never seemed to get rid of, baking under the desert sun, she took him by the hand and pulled him in under the cool shade of those fig trees. Tall, far reaching branches, big full leaves, he was in another world. It was inviting, she was inviting, some kind of goddamn siren with long blond curls and sharp blue eyes. There was no discussion, her dainty hands and nimble fingers worked his shirt open, her soft lips laid appreciative kisses down his neck, across his bare chest. He just stood there as she pulled him into her blissful abyss. When he was with her he forgot everything he left behind: the life he missed back in DC, his partner who still hadn't written, his broken heart, war, all of it. Making love to her under those damn fig trees, God, it was healing.

Twisting in a sudden and different direction, Booth's mind grabbed ahold of the letter that fell out of Bones' photo album. The letter with his name on it. She never said what that was about and he didn't ask, but he couldn't stop thinking about it. He wanted to ask her, wanted to know if she wrote him or tried to write him, what she said, but they weren't in a place where he could ask that, not now, not yet.

Seeing that letter changed things for him, it mattered. All those months with no communication from her broke him. God it hurt, worse than her rejection on the steps of the Hoover, worse than Hannah's rejection of his proposal. No letters from her, no emails or calls. Just one, that's all he needed, anything from her at all and maybe things would be different. Maybe Hannah would be nothing but a story about how he saved some dumbass journalist who refused to follow the rules.

He felt the rage rise back up, took aim at another paper heart, and emptied his clip without blinking.

Something Hannah said the night he proposed kept nagging at him. Hannah followed him, right, gave up her assignment in the Middle East to chase him. That was love, had to be. Otherwise, why give all that up. But she had no intention of marrying him, ever. That night, the night he asked her to marry him, she said she thought they would have more time together before they got to that point, _that point,_ the point where he wanted more than she did. But they were always the point, right? From the very beginning they wanted different things.

Because Hannah wasn't the marrying type, but he was.

She knew that all along. Hannah let him love her, let that love grow, until it didn't serve her anymore. That was cold hearted, right? Cruel. What if he waited, a year, two years, built an entire life around her, only to be rejected when he wanted to take things to the next level. It wasn't right to compare them, Bones and Hannah, he knew that, but he couldn't help it.

Because Bones, well, she would never do what Hannah did to him. She was just the opposite. Even when he pushed her, begged her to give them a chance, she refused. Reluctant to even try because she thought she'd never be able to be what he wanted most, a wife, his wife, the woman he could build a family with. She didn't want to lead him on. Like Hannah, she didn't believe in marriage either and was just as vocal about it, but she wanted to protect him. She loved him, loved him so much that she couldn't bare the thought of causing him pain, even if protecting him hurt her.

The more he thought about it, the more he realized he screwed up, got it all wrong. Breaking up with Hannah wasn't the mistake he should be worried about. Hannah left, yeah, it hurt, opened up all kinds of wounds, flooding him with insecurities, reminders of all his failings. But, the bigger mistake in all this, his mistake, was what he put Bones through. That's what he needed to fix.

Booth set the gun down momentarily, taking a step back, he rubbed his face vigorously with both hands. He didn't know how to do that, didn't even know where to begin. Letting his hands fall causally to his hips, Booth took a long deep breath, filling his cheeks like bellows then letting the air out slowly. He'd fix it, he'd figure it out, he promised himself, he just needed a little more time to get his shit together.

Stepping back up, he set another target. This one, a red cut out of a chubby little cupid in the center of a white heart. Adjusting his stance and taking aim, he prepared to empty another clip.

Bones.

There was a definite divide in their partnership, a before and after, he could see it now. When they first got back he was so busy trying to convince himself that they were the same that he ignored how much things changed between them. How many nights and weekends did she spend alone in the lab since their return? Too many, Angela said as much, scolding him a thousand times over since their return to DC. Truth, until recently he tried not to think about it or whether she was eating or getting enough sleep or alone. But now, things were different now.

A deep sense of worry rose up within him.

For a brief moment he wondered what she was doing. Probably at the lab, he consoled himself, spending her holidays with bones was such a Bones thing to do. That big hollow building, everything so cold and sterile, nothing warm and inviting, as much as he tried he never saw it the way she did. It was her refuge, like the firing range was his. Still, she spent too many holidays like that, alone, as much as she might say she was okay, he didn't want that for her. She deserved more. She deserved to be somewhere warm and inviting with people who loved her.

Lowering his gun, he rubbed away the ache in the center of his chest. Maybe he'd drive by there after this, go through the parking lot, make sure her car wasn't still there. He wanted that, wanted to be there for her like she was for him lately. Booth felt his own hesitancy rise up and chase that thought away. He wasn't sure he was ready for that, for what might come of it if he sought her out like that. If he did, when he did, he needed to be ready, he needed to be sure. They were out of chances, they'd wasted too many of them, one more, that's all they had, he was sure of it, one more to get it right.

Of course, she might not be at the lab, she might not even be alone, maybe she accepted one of those calls she kept getting, propositions for a Valentine's date. David, the guy from her gym, Jean Paul, whoever the hell he was, creepy ass Bunsen Burner the science guy, the calls just kept coming, every time they were together, all day long. The anger and frustration and pain he fought back all day, he expected that, part of recovering from a breakup. The one emotion he didn't expect to feel was jealousy. The tug of those familiar feelings surprised him. If he was honest with himself, he didn't want her spending the night with any of them.

What an ass, he thought, chastising himself. He didn't want to be with her, didn't even ask what she was doing, but he sure as hell didn't want anyone else to be with her either. Pulling his gun up in front of him he tore through another paper heart, this one with an arrow right through it and the word love scrawled across it.

He emptied the clip, ready to reload his weapon when he heard the jiggling wheels of a rolling cart as they thunked over the seams in the concrete floor. At first he thought it was Manny, but when he turned to acknowledge the man, well, it wasn't him. It was Bones, right there in front of him, pushing out a cart with two huge wooden cases on it.

She looked, God, she looked beautiful, but then she always looked beautiful. Her eyes danced, her smile, a little nervous at first, got stronger as she came closer. It was all good until she said Valentine's gift and his heart sunk, his shoulders fell. He just wanted the day to end, needed it to be over and done with.

She saw it, his reaction, and a short burst of insecurity ran through her. This whole plan of hers was risky and she knew it. But when he said he might spend the evening at the firing range her mind immediately started piecing bits of their conversations together. St. Valentine's Day Massacre, firing range, Roaring Twenties Exhibit at the Jeffersonian, it seemed like such a good idea at the time. Judging by the look on his face, she wasn't sure he wanted her there and she wondered if this, what she planned for him, fit into the new, partners only, definition of their relationship.

"Bones, I told yo-"

"Open it." She commanded, not even letting him finish his thought and when he asked what it was, she repeated herself hoping if he saw the gift it would speak for itself.

His movements were rough, slightly irritated as he flipped the latches and opened the case. That all changed when he saw the Tommy Gun. Bright with excitement, his eyes sparkled and he smiled, a real smile, genuine, not forced. A sense of relief washed over her.

He was happy.

The pair laughed and joked back and forth, trading old black and white mobster movie quotes as they obliterated the targets in front of them. The rapid fire of the Tommy gun, it's surprisingly light recoil, the loud repetitive popping sound in his ear, and thin haze of smoke, were seductively overwhelming. Booth let himself drown in the sensory overload until he completely forgot about his breakup with Hannah, his aching heart, and the complicated relationship with the woman standing next to him.

It felt good, really good.

Time with her flew by and before he knew it the warning bell rang, letting him know they were going to close the range soon. It was time to wrap it up. A satisfying silence lingered between them as Booth helped her pack up the guns and load them into her car. Closing the trunk he found himself leaning against it, arms folded loosely across his chest. She settled next to him. There was so much he wanted to say, but he didn't know where to start or how to convey how much her support and friendship meant to him. At a loss, he took a deep breath and bumped her shoulder lightly with his own.

"Thanks, Bones." His voice was soft and deep. Looking over at him, she caught his eyes, they connected, the two of them, and he gave her a content smile. "I liked my gift." She smiled back, her eyes light and happy.

The day he couldn't wait to get rid of turned into the night he didn't want to end.

"Hey, so...have you eaten?" He asked hoping he could steal just a little more time with her. "I'm starving, you know, and I was thinking about hitting the diner on the way home...If you haven't eaten...maybe…" He didn't get to finish his thought before she jumped to answer.

"No." His eyes looked sad, his whole body crestfallen and she sought immediately to correct what was obviously a miscommunication. Reaching out as if to stop him, her hand came to rest on his arm just below his elbow sending a thrill through him. "No, I mean, no I haven't eaten." Nervous, she laughed trying to play it off casually. "The diner sounds good, Booth."

"Good." Booth nodded as he talked. "Good...I figure it won't be crowded tonight, you know, I mean who takes their date to the diner for Valentines, right?"

"Yes, right," her voice as firm and supportive, "it should be good, neutral." She would do anything for him, anything to make him happy, to see him smile. It was all she cared about, all she wanted from a day she knew would be hard for him.

"Good, then, I'll follow you over."

Holding the car door for her, he waited for her to get in, then closed it once she was settled. Watching him as he jogged across the parking lot, a couple rows over to his vehicle, her heart skipped a beat as he turned suddenly and waved as he walked backwards a few steps. She waved back. This man did things to her she just didn't understand.

Love was not an emotion she was used to indulging. For years she distanced herself from it, dismissing it as mere chemicals, pointing out its fleeting nature, protecting herself to avoid its traps. Somewhere along the line, while she was busy maintaining her varied defenses, this man waltzed right past them all and before she even realized what was happening she was already in love with him.

The drive to the diner was short, he met her down the street and walked in with her. They were completely engaged in conversation when Booth opened the door, bells ringing to announce their arrival. His hand fell so naturally to the small of her back as he guided her through the door. Such a simple act, still it nearly took her breath away and she found herself fighting the wave of emotion that followed.

There was a time, recently, when she thought she might never share those simple intimacies with him again. Their easy banter back and forth, late nights working together over take out, long talks, the way he explained things to her, social things that didn't come naturally to her, she missed those things, missed him. Of course, she couldn't tell Booth that, not now, not while he was still healing from his relationship with Hannah. All she could do was be there for him, support him, and wait, hoping it wasn't too late, that he, the very person she let get away, wasn't going anywhere, that someday there might be a chance for them.

"You okay, Bones?" She looked up to find him peering over the top of his menu, his deep brown eyes full of concern.

"Oh...yes...of course," she fumbled around trying to answer his concern while settling in her seat. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she smiled and looked straight into his eyes. "Better now."

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: Thank you to all those who wished me well. The heart catherization went off without a hitch. Turns out don't have any heart disease (as in clogged arteries) at all (Yippee) just a big heart that appears to be a weak. I don't know what all that means but I'm bound to know more in a couple weeks when I meet with the cardiologist again. In the meantime the blood pressure meds seem to be helping and I am back to writing.

Thank you also to all those who've been reading, following and favoriting this story and leaving reviews and private messages. Your support is invaluable! I definitely feel it and it makes all the word wrangling and wrestling I do worth it! Keep 'em coming! I promise they are appreciated!

Until next Thursday, much love

~DG


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7

"Because there's nothing more beautiful than the way the ocean refuses to stop kissing the shoreline, no matter how many times it's sent away." ― **Sarah Kay**

She was sleeping, she was sure of it, dreaming. Booth's strong hand rested on her shoulder, she could feel the weight of it, his fingers rubbing soft even circles along her arm. Something was playing in the background, exaggerated voices, thick East Coast accents booming loudly in her ears. Then his hand moved stroking her hair, tucking it gently behind her ear. She could feel the callouses on his fingertips brush against her neck. It was soothing and so real, but it had to be a dream. This wasn't them, this wasn't the way they were with one another.

And since it was a dream, a comforting, happy dream, a wonderful reprieve to her normal fanfare of disturbing nightmares, there seemed to be no reason to wake up. Humming in satisfaction, she nuzzled further into her pillow and let herself drift in the solace of what she hoped they could be someday.

It was the rapid gun fire that jarred her awake, set her heart pounding in her chest. Bolting upright, she gasped for air as her frantic eyes tried to make sense of unfamiliar surroundings. It took too long to figure it out and when she did, she was even more confused.

"It's okay, Bones, it's not real, just the show, remember?" His hand was on her back, rubbing large circles, trying to calm her, but it wasn't working. "It's okay, you're okay." Whipping her head around she caught his eyes. Genuinely scared, he could see the raw panic in them.

"No." She pleaded as she became less scared and more desperate with each iteration. Over and over she said the simple word as she stood backing away from him until she hit the bookcase where his TV was still blasting, rattling the whole assembly. She reached out and Booth wasn't sure if she was steadying herself or trying to keep his TV and nicknacks from falling.

Those eyes, her gorgeous, expressive, storyteller eyes, always honest, just like her, never lied. What he saw in them now worried him, he knew this look, cornered, ready to run. This adjustment in their partnership was hard, after all, he was trying to get them back to what they were before. Consistently back, not just glimpses, moments where he saw it, felt it, then watched it slip through his fingers again, lost in more than a year of mistakes and regret. Tonight felt like one of those nights, he felt like they were lost, fighting their way to the surface for air.

Her frightened eyes were a sharp contrast to those sparkling blue eyes, those daring, competitive eyes that claimed victory on their morning jog just days ago and demanded he buy her coffee. He wanted to be back in that moment, the one he orchestrated when he woke up early Saturday morning, looked at the time, and knew exactly where to find her jogging in Rock Creek Park. Ponytail swaying, long graceful stride, so strong and beautiful, he just watched for a moment before running to catch up. Morning light pooled around her, wisps of hair forming a golden halo framing her face, pure Bones, very little makeup, no pretense. She was so her that morning, all science and confidence.

If he couldn't have those eyes he'd settle for her apologetic eyes, such honest regret over missing the lecture Booth was going to attend with her on the Peloponnesian War. They were doing what they do best, standing over another dead body. He wanted those eyes back because these eyes, the one staring back at him, were stormy, more green than blue, like the ocean, and he felt them being sucked back into the powerful undertow which seemed to be continually threatening them.

Standing, he reached for her shoulders to steady her, to try and calm her, but it only seemed to upset her.

"Bones, what's going on here, talk to me, okay? Tell me what's bothering you. Did you have a nightmare?" She wasn't answering, just shaking her head back and forth as she gathered her belongings and headed for the door. "The gunshots weren't real, just the show, a documentary on Al Capone, remember?"

She remembered, she remembered the bar and drinks, not celebratory, they didn't close the case, didn't catch Broadsky. They talked, he'd been mad at her, it seemed like the whole case and she didn't know why. It was a miscommunication. They didn't used to have those, not really, never. Booth invited her over to watch a Biography Channel documentary on Al Capone and the Valentine's Day Massacre. A thank you for her special gift to him.

She remembered sitting next to him on the couch, not too close, sharing popcorn and talking. The narrator's deep voice was so relaxing. Sleepy, emotionally and physically exhausted from this last case, she must have dozed off, but she didn't remember laying down, certainly didn't remember putting her head in Booth's lap. Embarrassed, her cheeks burning, arms full, she headed straight for the door, with Booth right behind her begging her to stay.

"Bones, stop, please, just stop and talk to me, just for a minute, okay? Then you can go, I won't stop you, just talk to me first, okay, tell me what's going on, why you're so...nothing happened, nothing between us, okay, I wasn't...I hope you don't think I…"

Well, not nothing, he thought but didn't say that. Something happened, something so comforting and natural that he didn't fight it, just let her slip with ease into his lap. Catching a glimpse of what could be between them turned into a moment of clarity for him. This was why he asked Hannah to marry him, not because he thought she would say yes, not because he wanted a life with her, not at all. He did it because he knew Hannah would say no, on some elemental level he knew. And he knew it would free him so he could pursue this, so he could have this moment with this woman.

His hand hovered over her shoulder for a long time before he let it rest there and he didn't even realize the patterns his fingers drew in lazy repetition along her arm until she turned her head. Settling into his lap, her beautiful dark locks fell across her face. It was tickling her, he could tell by the way she wiggled her nose, and he didn't want her to wake, didn't want this dream, his waking dream, to end. So, he carefully tucked those unruly bits back behind her ear, letting his fingers drag along her neck.

The rattle of the door knob startled him, arms still full, her awkward attempts to open it lost in her frenzied attempt to leave. He just wanted her to stop so he could talk to her. Desperate, he came up right behind her, reaching over her shoulders he pushed against the door with both hands. It fell closed with a loud thud. Her whole body jerked. She was trapped between him and the door. His strong arms on either side of her, she stared at his hands, his fingers nervously twitching, adjusting against the dark wood.

Finally processing what he was saying, she shook her head slightly side to side. No, she didn't think he was out of bounds, that didn't even occur to her.

"Booth." Tired, an undertone of defeat whispered through his name as she exhaled it against the door.

"Just talk to me, Bones. Just...just...tell me...tell me what's going on."

"It doesn't matter." Eyes glued to his hands, she didn't turn around, didn't dare, for fear she'd cave under the effect of those tender brown eyes she knew were waiting for her.

"Partners don't say it doesn't matter," he whispered, "it's like saying _forget it._ " Shifting her weight back and forth, she let her shoulders fall in defeat, and turned around. "It does matter, Bones, whatever it is _does_ matter."

They were so close, dangerously close. Eyes darting back and forth across one another until they locked and held. The documentary on Al Capone was still playing in the background, filling the silence between them. He let it, waiting for her to answer.

"I...I..." Squaring her shoulders, she stood up a little talker, took a deep breath for fortitude, and closed her eyes. She couldn't look at him, she just needed to say it. "I don't want a new FBI guy." Confused, he shook his head slightly. What she was saying didn't make any sense to him and he wondered why she would even think that.

"What? Bones, I don't understand."

"You said I had two choices. You...you...said…," the pained look in her eyes nearly broke him, but when he moved to reach out to her, she flinched and jerked backward, hitting the door. So, he pulled back, taking a step or two to give her some space. "That night, you said that I could stay and have a drink with you, as your partner, only your partner, or I could leave and you would find me a new partner, those were my only options. That...that..." motioning towards the couch, she swallowed hard, "that wasn't…partners don't do _that_. I don't want a new FBI guy, Booth, I don't want a new partner."

He forgot about that. There were so many things about that night he regretted, big, overwhelming things, he never even thought twice about this thing. But, Bones, she was different, of course she would latch onto something like that, hard-and-fast lines, definitions, rules, structure, semantics, anything and everything that could be taken as an absolute, something solid, she would cling to it, stake her life on it.

"I was drunk." Looking away, he lowered his head until he was staring at floor and talked softly. "I was drunk, Bones, I was...that whole thing with Hannah, it had just happened. I didn't mean...I never meant...I was just so angry."

He couldn't say the rest aloud, couldn't bring himself to, but he thought it. He was angry and drunk and stupid, emphasis on stupid. If he wasn't drunk he would never say half the things he said to her that night, more than half.

"Are you still angry?"

It wasn't just Hannah he was angry at that night, she knew it, remembered it vividly. Looking past him, she stared across his living room replaying the whole painful interaction like a movie in her head. His words still burned, etched into her memory. She felt her heart clench in her chest as she waited for his answer.

"I'm better, I mean, I'm working on it, you know." Swallowing hard, he sought her eyes, wanting to connect. "I'm not as angry. I'm better." Switching his focus he looked over at the couch. "That, right there, you just fell asleep, it wasn't, we're still partners, we're good, there's nothing, I'm not going to find you a new partner, Bones, I don't want a new partner. I want you, you're the only partner I've ever wanted."

Her head tilted and he swore he heard a catch in her breath.

"Stay, okay? Stay and we'll finish the show." She looked back and forth from Booth to the couch, eventually letting her eyes fall shut as she thought. She couldn't leave, not the way things were, leaving would drive them farther apart, she knew it. When she finally answered, it was a simple nod, growing in strength and confidence until her nod turned into a one word answer.

"Okay."

Shrugging off her bag, dropping her boots, letting her overcoat slip off her arm, she let it all fall to the floor where she stood. Booth let out a long sigh of relief following her back to the couch. They sat on opposite ends, staring straight ahead at the television, stiff, anxious, occasionally stealing glances in one another's direction. She looked hesitant, but she stayed and that meant the world to him. He wasn't alone in his desire to work this out between them, she wanted it too.

No more running.

Booth took a long deep breath, holding it. This case was hard, reopening old wounds while he was still dealing with fresh ones. An old friend, well, used to be friend, he corrected himself, a former brother in arms. It wasn't just the Gravedigger, Broadsky killing again meant it wasn't an isolated incident, this new victim set a pattern. Booth spent a fair amount of time trying to figure out what changed in Broadsky, what snapped causing him to spin off in this destructive direction. All while coming to terms with the fact that he wasn't going to stop until Booth stopped him. That was a heavy load.

Only made worse by the way Bones looked at him, those eyes, those beautiful eyes seemed to stand in judgement, constantly comparing him to Jake Broadsky. Every clue, every bit of information, every interaction, every comparison she made, added to the horrible weight and guilt he carried. She knew him, better than anyone else in the world she knew him. How could she think taking a life meant nothing to him the way it meant nothing to Broadsky? He thought that during the case, about a million times. It broke him in a way he couldn't explain.

Out of the corner of his eye he caught her moving a little closer to him, reaching for the bowl of pistachios and grabbing a few. Glancing up at him, their eyes met, she smiled briefly, then turned back toward the television. He saw trust there, not like they used to share, but it was something, a beginning, enough for where they were in their relationship. The look she gave him mirrored the look she gave him in the bar, which was still fresh in his mind.

"I'm standing right beside you, Booth, like always, like I always will."

All week he thought she was judging him, thought she was saying that he and Broadsky were the same. But, he admitted to himself, he may have gotten that wrong. He couldn't help but wonder if he was so worried about what she thought of him that he missed the most important story her eyes were telling, one of support.

Scooting a little closer to her, he forced himself to sink back into the couch. Grabbing a few of the small nuts he fiddled with them, pinching them between his fingers, cracking the shells, turning them over and over in his hands, before popping the kernels in his mouth one at a time. It was a nervous twitch, a fidget. His mind weaving it's way back to the case, their partnership. He told Sweets they didn't talk about personal stuff like Broadsky, like her judgements, his feelings, not anymore. That wasn't strictly true, but saying it aloud made him realize it was truer than he wanted it to be.

"We're not just partners, you know." Booth spoke into the flashing light and shadows from the TV screen, he didn't look up, his eyes glued to the pistachio shells tumbling between his fingers as her full attention turned toward him. "I mean, we've been partners for five years, more than five years, right? That's a long of time, you know, I mean, we're not just partners, we're friends, right?" There was a pained desperation in his voice, he needed to know she still considered him a friend as much as he needed her to know their friendship was important to him.

Turning to face her, their eyes caught, and he watched as she nodded her approval. Her voice strained as she tried to speak against the emotion she felt welling up in her.

"Yes, of course, friends."

"Not just friends, you know, good friends, close friends." They were both nodding now, agreeing with each other. "So, that thing, you know, that happened earlier, you don't have to worry about that because it wasn't a partner thing, you know, it was a friend thing." He caught the tiny catch in her breath, her soft smile, her giving eyes signalling her approval.

"A friend thing, yes."

With that, they both turned their attention back to the documentary, feigning interest as George E.Q. Johnson's son talked at length about how his father's experience as the lead prosecutor in Al Capone's tax evasion case.

Without warning Booth reached over and took her hand in his, giving it a little squeeze and when she didn't pull away he just kept holding it, letting his thumb rub even circles over hers.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: Thank you so much for all the reviews and support. I haven't had much time this week. Real life is being a pain in the...well, you know. I will try to catch up this weekend on answering reviews. In the meantime, THANK YOU! To all you who have taken the time to read and give feedback, it means so much to me and makes this escape such a rewarding one for me. And to those who sign in as guest, I wish I could answer each of your thoughtful reviews. Since I can't, for the most part, please accept a collective thank you and some warm virtual hugs!

I'm off to a busy day, but I'll be holding my breath and checking email on my phone for review notifications. I'm anxious for your thoughts about this chapter!

Much love,

~DG


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

"The heart of man is very much like the sea, it has its storms, it has its tides and in its depths it has its pearls too"

― **Vincent van Gogh** , **The Letters of Vincent van Gogh**

They sat in silence, his apartment dark, only a few candles offering little light. It was late, the day long put away. They finished their small meal of snacks, cleaned up the last of it, rearranged the furniture one last time to accommodate the new addition of the stadium seats and settled on the couch. Booth's blinds were up and in the haloed light of the street lamp they watched the snow, still falling. A fire in the fireplace crackled and popped and kept the apartment warm, though the power was on at the moment, there was no telling how long that would last, it was out most of the day and already flickered on and off several times.

Booth took in a loud, deep breath and she turned to look at him momentarily.

"Good thing we told Sweets to leave when we did. He never would've made it out otherwise."

"Yes." She was quick to respond.

The partners shared a knowing look before looking away and settling back into the silence. Sweets spent the day relishing the fact that they were caged, or at least it felt that way. His own captive audience, Booth thought, push, push, push, the boy didn't know when to quit. It's like he didn't learn anything from the first time around, even though that landed him and Bones over six thousand miles apart, literally, figuratively, well, it seemed like they'd drifted farther apart than that. Booth scoffed out loud as the thought passed through him, drawing her attention. She seemed to know what he was thinking.

"I think he's just trying to . . . help. I think he means well." She was nervous about what she was saying, this was obviously a sensitive topic for Booth as evidenced by the once frozen peas scattered far and wide between the first and second floors of his building.

"I don't want him in the middle of this, in the middle of . . . us. Whatever we decide to do, whenever we decide to do it, it needs to be . . . ours, just ours." Looking directly at her, he gave her a clear nod and waited for her to give him one back. But, she wasn't a shrinking violet and he smiled broadly when she straightened up, squared her shoulders, and answered.

"I agree. This is ours. It needs to belong to us, but I also believe he feels bad about what happened and his attempts to push us together are probably his way of trying to fix what he thinks he broke. That makes his actions understandable, though clearly not acceptable."

Booth nodded. Insight into Sweets' mind from the girl who hated psychology, sound insight, he agreed.

"Still, I don't like that he took advantage of the situation." Booth paused looking down at this hands, fidgeting with his fingers. "That was wrong . . . and playing on my belief in fate to try force the conversation, well, I don't like to be manipulated."

Sweets clearly picked up on their vulnerability, but he should've seen past that, he should've realized it wasn't the time or the place. He knew too much about them not to, spoken and unspoken. Booth's military records were part of his FBI file, the times he was held captive as a soldier and in the line of duty for the Bureau and Bones, well, she'd confessed being locked in the trunk of a car for a couple of days a few years back, he knew about her time in the system and about the Gravedigger. Sweets wasn't an idiot, he could put two and two together and today he worked it to his advantage. Booth didn't like that, didn't like it at all, and found he wasn't quite done talking about it.

"And, you know, we did talk about it, us, on our own and even if we hadn't done that today, you know, if he hadn't brought it up, well, we would have talked about it eventually, right? Because we both knew we needed to." They were getting there, on their own, without Sweets, that's what he wanted her to know.

Booth ran both hands over his face, letting his eyes fall shut as he breathed out the stress of the day. Looking back up just in time to catch her watching him intently. A rim of warm yellow light highlighting her beautiful features, he couldn't pull his gaze away. What he wouldn't do for this woman, nothing, there was nothing, he'd do anything, anything but. He felt the weight of their day fall around him, of her day, and the heaviness of not being able to fix it for her. He got her stuck, he was the source of her torture. _They're just chairs, Booth,_ rang in his head, _I blame you_. He could hear it, her anger and frustration, her unspoken pain, and he couldn't help the cringe that overtook him.

"You okay, Booth? Is your back hurting again?"

"No." He smiled, but it wasn't very sincere, she could see that, even in the dim light. "No, I'm fine, Bones . . . just a chill . . . or something. How 'bout you? You cold?"

He'd been a smart ass in the elevator, _for the no match in missing persons or for the blizzard_ , he countered even though he knew what she meant. He was too busy fighting his own demons or maybe it was some form of self punishment. He deserved her wrath. Of course, he still thought he could get them out of there at that point, didn't realize they'd spend the whole goddam day in that elevator.

"Not really." She was curled in tight around herself, sweater pulled closed, hands tucked in. Liar, he thought, as he pulled the throw down off the back of the couch they were sitting on and tucked it around her.

There was guilt too. God, he was so wrapped up in those damn chairs, so captured by them, driven to seize them, he lost all perspective. He should've known when they were trying to get them in the elevator, he should've seen that it was a bad idea. But he couldn't, he didn't see anything but what those chairs represented to him. And then, as if the universe was mocking him, he was trapped, locked up with them. And they weren't just chairs, they never were, never could be, they were the personification of his father, of his childhood torture, of his need to hold onto the few good memories he had. She was telling him these chairs were nothing and his father made him feel like nothing, and he had to explain, he needed her to know why they were important, to understand.

Those chairs, too big for the damn elevator, larger than life, were a symbol of something good, they meant he mattered, if only for a couple of weeks, if only for that day. And she got it, she listened and she understood, he could see it in her eyes. God, the look in her eyes, the compassion and empathy. And with no more thought of her own needs she took up his cause. Those goddamn chairs mattered to her because they mattered to him. No one in his whole life ever gave him that, no one but Pops.

"That better?" He asked softly, she nodded, barely humming her answer.

Things had been so . . . awkward . . . between them for so long. It was changing, it was definitely better and he needed that, more than he could ever find a way to tell her he needed that, and this too, he needed her by his side.

His smile was warm now, not forced, and she smiled back wondering what was weighing so heavily on his mind that he more than tolerated their silence, he seemed to embrace it. She wanted to reach out and smooth away the worry from his brow, but clenched the blanket tighter in her fists instead. She caught him looking at those stadium seats, so tied to them that he didn't feel her watching him, and knew she needed to say something. Taking a deep breath, she reached out, let her hand fall tenderly on his arm, and spoke softly.

"I'm glad we got the chairs, Booth. It was worth it, all of it." Turning his attention to her, he took in a sharp, deep breath and held it. "And we solved the case, from an elevator, that's pretty impressive." His smile broadened.

"Well, yeah, I guess it is."

The case hadn't been the focus of his day and he didn't think it was hers either, more like a distraction that made their captivity bearable.

"We're a good team, aren't we?" He leaned closer, bumping her shoulder playfully, she smiled and laughed, a low chuckle. They sat that way for a long time, letting the quiet peacefulness of night wrap itself around them, watching the silent snow falling. Her hand was still resting on his arm when he started to speak again.

"God, I loved winter when I was a kid, looked forward to it all year. And when it got colder and started to snow, wow, I just couldn't wait until the river behind our house froze over and we could skate on it." Booth turned a little toward her and her hand fell away. She couldn't tell if this, what he was about to share, was going to be a happy memory or a traumatic one. Either way, she felt the need to offer him a sense of solidarity.

"I lived for it, you know? Skating." She nodded, reaching out to touch his arm like she had just moments earlier. "I bugged the hell outta my dad. Everyday I asked if I could skate yet and everyday he told, 'no, one more good freeze, Seeley, the river's not ready yet.' It seemed like weeks, you know, to a kid time just . . . God, it passes so slow." Letting her hand slide down his arm, she grabbed ahold of his hand, squeezing it just enough to let him know she was still with him.

"He lost his temper more than once about it, swore I wouldn't skate all winter if I didn't stop bugging the crap outta him, even threatened to throw away my skates, holding 'em over the trashcan." Booth was shaking his head, the look in his eyes pained as he swallowed hard.

"And then one night he woke me up, just me, it was late, middle of the night. He had this tone, this way he said my name, used to scare the hell outta me because I never knew what was coming. I was sleepy and confused and trying to figure out what I'd done wrong so I could apologize for it. It took forever to understand what he was saying, he was trying to be quiet, slurring his words a little. But he was happy, excited, and he was holding my skates. Told me to hurry and get dressed and to be quiet so I didn't wake up mom or Jared." Booth was smiling now and she felt herself relax as he pulled her hand over into his lap, holding it loosely with both his hands.

"The river was finally frozen. He'd been out late drinking, it'd been snowing and I guess he decided to check the river on his way home. We skated for hours, just me and him, 'til the sun started to come up and then we snuck back into the house. He made me change back into my pjs and get back in bed like I'd never been up, swore me to secrecy, told me if I told mom I'd be in trouble."

"That's a beautiful memory, Booth."

"Yeah, yeah, it is. It . . . it doesn't change anything, doesn't change who he was, what he did, but he wasn't all bad, there were . . . times, you know, a few of them, good times." Looking up at the ceiling, eyes blinking madly, Booth took a deep breath, letting it out in a huff as his fingers worked intently around hers until he wrapped her hand tight in his own. "Sometimes I wonder if it made it worse, those good times, because when it was bad, God, when it was bad I wanted that dad back, the good one, the fun one, I wanted those times, but that wasn't him, he wasn't that man, not really."

Booth was anxious to change the subject and jumped to do so, cutting her off before she could comment.

"So, Bones, do you have anything like those chairs?"

"No, I don't own any stadiums seats."

"No, no, I mean, something you have or wish you had that represents something good from your childhood, like these, you know, remind me of that one perfect day with my dad."

"Oh, oh . . . no . . . I . . . I don't. I . . . uh . . . I wasn't allowed to take much with me when I went into the system." Even though she was sitting right there beside him and he was still holding her hand, she seemed suddenly far off.

Pulling away, her gaze fell to her lap and she started fidgeting with the fringe on the edge of Booth's blanket. Her mind was lost in all the personal items she left behind when she was taken away from their family home and put into the system, so much of her personal history forever lost. Even the few things she carried with her, a few pictures and small items of memorabilia, were lost, for the most part, over her years in the system. Booth was about to say he was sorry for bringing it up when she started speaking again.

"A medal, there's a medal, I wish I had that." She looked up at Booth, his attention drawn to her, his rich brown eyes, still glossy from the tears he fought to hide, so connected and supportive, reached out to her. "I won the regional science fair when I was in the seventh grade." The confidence and pride in her eyes was riveting as she told him the details of her project, a test to see if weakened chicken bones could reabsorb calcium, her win, and the day spent celebrating with her parents. The way she told the story, in such great detail, so animated, that science fair medal easily rivaled any award or accolade she'd ever received as an adult. "But, I lost it, I don't even know where, had to be in one of the foster homes I lived in or, more likely, in a move from one home to another." She was quiet momentarily, before looking straight up into his eyes. "I'd like to have that back. It would be like your chairs to me . . . but . . . but it's lost . . . has been for many years."

"I wish I could get it back for you." He offered softly. "If you gave me a list of names, you know, the families you st-"

"No. No, I don't want to, I . . . I . . . I can't. So, don't." She looked pointedly at him, "Please, don't." He gave her a nod, she needed the reassurance that he wouldn't contact the families she lived with during her time in the foster system. That was in her past and she wanted it to stay there. "But I have this." Moving the blankets she reach into her shirt and pulled up a simple little locket that hung on a long chain.

"What's that?" He moved in for a look closer as she fiddled with the clasp and opened it.

"My father gave it to me before I left for Maluku." Booth reached out, taking the small open locket in his hand and leaned in, trying to see it more clearly in the dim light of the apartment. "There's a picture of my father on one side. That's what he looked like before plastic surgery. And my mother and on the other side. That picture was taken on their wedding day."

The back of Booth's hand rested lightly on her chest as he studied the small pictures. He could feel the rapid rise and fall of her chest as her heart raced and her breath quickened. He was so close and the urge to kiss him so strong. She let her eyes fall shut momentarily and forced a long measured breath as she struggled to maintain control.

"She's beautiful, Bones, you look a lot like her." Letting the locket fall from his palm, Booth pulled back his hand and when she thanked him he wasn't entirely sure whether it was for the compliment or for retreating just enough so she could regain her composure. "You're staying tonight." Her eyes widened, they'd talked about the possibility of more, in the future, loosely, in nonspecific terms, and burned papers in some sort of magic ritual which was supposed to bring about desired results, but nothing said or unsaid indicated that he wanted to sleep with her tonight. "I'll sleep on the couch." He tried not to chuckle at her obvious misinterpretation.

"No," she blurted. "You can't, not after injuring your back today."

"Then you can sleep on the couch, but there's no way you're going home in that mess. They haven't even cleared the streets yet . . . and it's already late." He spoke with such authority and her urge to argue with him simply out of principle was strong, but she didn't. She just huffed in exasperation as she acquiesced.

"Okay."

"I'll get you something more comfortable to sleep in and some blankets." With that he stood, left her sitting on the couch as he went about his business.

They didn't talk much after that, both buzzed around the apartment getting ready for the bed. She washed her face and changed. He stoked the fire, adding another log or two, and made up the couch, pausing briefly when he was done. He felt her hand on his shoulder and turned, she was swimming in an old grey FBI sweatshirt of his and a pair of sweatpants bunched up with a drawstring around her waist. Smiling, he stepped aside and motioned toward the couch, now all dressed in sheets, blankets, and pillows. He watched as she sat down and started to settle herself. Brushing past the chairs on his way to drop the blinds, he stopped, looking down on her all curled up on his couch.

"Good night, Bones." He spoke softly.

"Good night, Booth." She added.

He looked back one last time before entering his bedroom. Those stadium seats, situated directly across from his couch, stared back at him. They meant something to him, held a connection forged in his childhood. They reminded him of something good, something to hang onto despite all the pain that surrounded those memories. And somewhere in their inescapably long day, they became something more, not just a memory, something new, something to hang onto now. Maybe even a little magicky, because even though he wasn't sure he was ready when she asked if Sweets was right, if they should talk about them, he said yes. That wasn't planned. He wanted things to be better between them first, he wanted some proof, some evidence that this wasn't going to end up like the last time, some protection for his still aching heart.

And he crushed her when he qualified it by telling her not then, not there in that stupid cage, not with Sweets popping up unexpectedly. He could see it mattered to her and watching her cover her disappointment hurt. He let his eyes fall shut as he stood against the pain he saw there, he couldn't look. Remembering it brought it back. He couldn't give her what she'd given him. Not then, not at that moment.

All day, just them and those chairs, a wedge between them, big at first. It divided them, stood between them, or maybe just represented everything that stood between them or at least he thought they did. But it changed, as the day went on, as they worked through it, and they did talk about it, about them, briefly, while they were still in their prison and then several times over the long night they shared. And the wedge dissolved, they broke through it, like snapping the row of seats so they could get out of the elevator.

And now when he looked at those stadium seats, they weren't just about his dad, they were about Bones, they were about them. They were a promise, a someday. Booth tapped the doorway to his room lightly a couple of times, gave a nod to nothing but his quiet apartment, closed his door, and went to bed.

 **ooooo0ooooo**

A/N: Good grief, I have a way of complicating things and the closer I got to posting today the more I realized I wasn't happy with the jump from chapter 7 to the then already written chapter 8. So, what did I do? Contacted my good friend snowybones and told her I was crazy and I was thinking about adding a chapter in between what I had already posted and the chapter I'd previously planned on posting today. Special thanks to her for being available to read this on short notice and act as a sounding board when I panicked about the flow from this chapter I just wrote and the one I previously wrote….she has the patience of a saint. As one of my sons would say our family motto is: making simple things hard.

Anyways, I hope you liked it. After the idea started to work itself out I found it a great opportunity to add some details in that are referenced later in the series. Please let me know what you think even though I haven't had time to sit down and respond to all your wonderful reviews. I will try and work on them tonight, last week went a little sideways but I think I'm headed in the right direction now.

I am ever grateful for your dedication to reading and support through follows, favorites, and reviews.

Speaking to a couple questions and comments. I addressed all the wonderful people who review under the umbrella guest. One person said they were on tumblr. I will try and find you but if I don't please understand, it's not you. I am not the least bit technically savvy. I set up a tumblr account eons ago and still don't really get that platform or how to use it. I am on twitter though, under the name DG_Schneider. If you want to find me there we can connect.

Also, the letters will come back up, I promise, they'll be the focus of a couple of chapters in the not so distant future. I've been writing those chapters (10 and 11 I think) and I'm actually very excited to share them with you.

Thank you again for all your wonderful support

Much love,

DG


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

"We are like islands in the sea, separate on the surface but connected in the deep."

― **William James**

Gripping the counter with both hands she stood over Booth's kitchen sink, her heart pounding wildly in her chest as she struggled to breathe. It was dark, the middle of the night, and all she wanted was to be home, in her own apartment, not here, not like this. Damn blizzard. Still trembling, she reached for a glass and filled it with water, cringing at every sound her movements made. It all seemed louder in the quiet of the night. Closing her eyes, she hoped it didn't wake him. Glass of water in hand, she turned and leaned up against the counter. Slow even breaths, she reminded herself, in through the nose, out through the mouth. She counted them out, one...two...three...one….

"You okay?"

Letting out an audible gasp, her whole body jerked, she dropped the glass which shattered when it hit the floor. Her eyes fell shut in defeat. She didn't even hear him at first, she was too busy talking over him, apologizing. Of course, he didn't hear her either, trying to get her to stop moving before she cut herself on the broken glass. Fawning over her, insisting she stand still and not move until he could deal with it. Finally, she complied, standing there with her hands up by her shoulders, heart racing in double speed, her bare feet covered in water and tiny shards of glass.

He had thick soled slippers on, which he was quick to remind her. During the winter he didn't walk around the house without them, the cold caused the old injuries in his feet terrible pain. And it was cold, sometime during the night the power went out again and the only heat in the apartment was a quickly dying fire in the fireplace.

"Okay, Bones, I'm going to pick you up and move you over there, ready?"

"No." Protesting, she folded her arms tightly across her chest and shot him a look of aggravation. "Booth, I'm just fine. Plus, you'll hurt your back."

"Not if you help." Answering quickly, he didn't leave room for her to argue. "Come on, put your arms around my neck." One strong arm was already wrapping around her waist. Wary, her eyes pleaded with him, but it was too late, his other arm was under her knees and lifting her before she could say anything else. Taking a deep breath she drapped his arms around his neck.

"Stay here." Setting her down right outside the kitchen, he brushed past her, gathering a few candles they used earlier in the evening and relit them, pooling just enough light to clean up the broken glass. She stood in the doorway watching him.

"Check your feet." He gave her a nod once he had her attention, she looked bewildered for a moment. "For glass," he clarified.

"Oh, Okay." Nodding as she bent down, she gave her feet a cursory examination. "I can do that, Booth, you shouldn't have to." She felt bad about waking him, about breaking the glass, it wasn't her intention.

"In your big ole mukluks?" He chuckled at the thought, she shook her head a little acknowledging how silly she'd look. Pausing with dustpan in hand, he looked up at her, his smile comforting. "I've got it. Don't worry about it."

Her boots were perfect for traipsing through the snow, which they did once they freed themselves from the elevator. Walking a little less than a mile down streets still piled with snow to capture Tariq Grazdani and back to Booth's apartment after the DC police drove them from the hospital, dropping them a couple blocks from his apartment, the closest they could get because of road closures. Her eyes darted back and forth between the boots and Booth. Letting out a big sigh, she watched as he stood, dumping the dustpan full of glass in the trash.

"I'm sorry I woke you. I didn't me-"

"You didn't wake me." Interrupting to correct her, he froze for a moment, catching her gaze. "I was awake, I was...I came out to get a drink." Reaching back up to the cupboard he pulled down a short glass tumbler, wiggling it a little to make his point.

She watched him carefully, mindful of the uneasy tone in his voice. Resting one strong hand gently on her shoulder, he turned her around, and guided her back over to the couch. She sat, craning her neck around to watch as he continued on behind her to his liquor cabinet.

Out of bed, that was always the first order of business for him, out of the dream, out of bed. It was the one time he didn't mind the way his feet hurt when he stood up after being off them for awhile. The searing pain helped ground him, separating him from whatever twisted terror his subconscious happened to serve up, giving him a physical tie back to reality.

Out of the dream, out of bed, out of the room, that was the way he did things, usually followed by a stiff drink to calm his nerves. But when he stumbled out of the room he found only a rumpled pile of sheets and blankets. She wasn't where she should be, asleep on the couch, which set his mind to worrying. Then he heard the cabinet door close in the kitchen and headed toward the sound. When he got there he knew immediately something was wrong. He saw obvious signs of distress, the tremble in her hands, her deliberate measured breaths, her tense posture.

Drink in hand he came back over to where she sat in the middle of the couch. He didn't say anything, just set his drink down on the coffee table and went back around to stoke the fire. Adding a couple split logs sent bursts of tiny embers dancing in the back of the fireplace. Taking a breath, he turned his attention back to her, motioning to the spot next to her on the couch. She nodded her approval and he sat down, letting out a long sigh through billowed cheeks before taking a drink.

"Nightmare?" She asked quietly. He only nodded his answer. "Me too." She confessed.

It wasn't surprising. Two people with troubled pasts spent the day locked in a small enclosed space. Regardless of distractions: a pressing case, childhood memories, relationship issues, the day was bound to catch up with them. This was exactly why she wanted to go home, why she argued with him earlier in the evening as she tried to figure out a way to make it happen. She knew she'd have nightmares, it was inevitable, she just didn't want to have them here. He would feel responsible, she knew that, and she did want him to carry that burden.

Without saying a word he passed her the tumbler of scotch. Two tortured souls, what a pair they made. She took a swallow, holding her breath through the unexpected burn before handing it back.

He, on the other hand, was glad she was there with him. Glad that when he jarred himself awake he could come out and see she was okay, not have to wonder or wait, debating whether to call her in the middle of the night just to hear her voice. Booth let out another long sigh.

"Hey, I'm...um...I'm sorry about today." Confused, she followed his gaze until she realized he was staring at the stadium seats. Her heart sank, he was still feeling guilt over those chairs.

"There's nothing to be sorry about." She said firmly.

"Yeah, yeah there is. If I hadn't been so hellbent on getting those stadium seats we wouldn't have spent all day stuck in that stupid elevator cage." Booth looked down at this hands, both wrapped tightly around the glass he was holding, and let out a loud huff of a breath. His implication was clear, being trapped in that cage all day was certainly a trigger, and not just for him, for both of them, he knew that, too many traumatic experiences where she was held captive against her will. He felt responsible for her nightmares.

"It's not your fault, Booth, it's not anyone's fault." Her voice was confident and sure. "You couldn't predict the power outage anymore than you could've predicted the blizzard, no one could. The weathermen didn't even get it right." She chuckled soft and low, pulling his attention back up to her. It was a beautiful sound, a sound he loved, a sound he'd missed. He gave her a slight smile, his warm eyes grateful for the way she jumped to his defense, his partner, his friend, always standing right beside him. "And," she paused for a second, holding his gaze, "like I told you earlier this evening, the chairs are important. They were worth it."

They sat in silence, Booth didn't respond, just looked back down at his hands, rolled the glass, watching the last bit of liquor travel in circles at the bottom of the tumbler.

"Okay." He finally conceded. "Okay." But she could still feel the tension in him. This wasn't all about the stadium seats, about their long day, or guilt. Closing her eyes against the rising tension, she waited, forcing herself to breath evenly.

Booth wanted to talk to her about her nightmare, but wasn't sure how to broach the subject. He felt very much like he was still working his way back to a place of trust with her. It might be him, she might not feel that way at all, but his absence in her life, the way they left things when they went their separate ways, how they were with each other when they came back to their lives in DC, after all that, how could she trust him? But, he wanted her to, needed her to, for things between them to continue to progress.

It was time for him to take some of his own advice. When they started working together as partners, one of the first things he taught her was to offer something of herself up. Partners share, he told her, it builds trust. Taking a deep fortifying breath, he was determined to show her she could trust him.

"I was in a junkyard, you know the kind that are filled with old cars, rows and rows, countless, endless rows of them." Wide with a mix of confusion and worry, her eyes darted across his features. Waiting for him to continue, she found herself holding her breath. "In my dream...in...in my nightmare."

Swallowing thickly, she nodded in acknowledgement.

"I was running from car to car banging on the trunks." Her shoulders fell, her head tilted, and he watched as sadness filled her whole being. She wasn't expecting that, but she knew the minute he said it, his nightmare was about her. It shouldn't have been, it should've been about him, about being a prisoner of war, being held against his will, tortured, not about her.

"Booth."

"I couldn't find you." He confessed, a rough tremble in his voice, an undertone of desperation she wasn't prepared for, but she could see it, she could feel roll off of him. "I called out for you, screamed your name, over and over, while I pounded on trunk after trunk, there were so many, as far as I could see, but you didn't answer."

Scooting closer, she reached over and took the tumbler out of his hand. He watched, silent, his eyes following as she set it on the table. This woman was everything to him and looking at her now, her love expressed in each deliberate move she made, he didn't know how she could ever think she wasn't enough. Why couldn't she see what her love did for him? How it settled him.

Leaning back against the couch, she let her arm twist in behind his catching his gaze and holding it as her hand ran down his forearm. She could feel the strength of his muscles twitch under her fingers and watched his chest rise sharply with each breath. A warm and tender show of support, her hand found its way to his. Grabbing it firmly, she squeezed tight, giving him one small nod to let him know she was ready for him to continue.

"Then I saw this one car, an old car, blue, Dodge, like from the 1970s or 80s, it was huge, you know, the kind that were as long as a boat. It was all rusted out and there was something falling from the back of it. I got closer and it looked like dirt. Dirt. It was falling from the back, you know, where the trunk closes, and under the taillights, from the wheel wells." His voice was building in intensity, cracking as he fought to hid the frantic feeling his nightmare inspired. "Little trickles of dirt were falling, not a lot, just barely enough to see, to know it was happening, and I knew you were in there, just knew it.

"It took awhile to pry the trunk open, I had to find something I could use like a crowbar, I had to force it open, but I kept talking to you, begging you to hang on, telling you I was coming. You didn't answer. God, I was so afraid that by the time I got to you, you'd...you'd be…" he couldn't bring himself to say it, even though she was sitting next to him, even though he knew she was safe and alive, he couldn't say that he thought she was dead, couldn't put that out there into the universe.

"Finally I got it open and it was filled with dirt. God, it was horrible. I started to shovel it out with my hands, but I wasn't fast enough, it was like shoveling sand, the more I dug, the more there was. I wasn't making any progress, it took forever to move enough of the damned stuff away to, you know, to see you, just your hip, just part of your legs. I was still trying to talk to you, I never stopped, Bones, but you didn't move, not even a little. That's when I woke up. I never got you out of there."

"I'm so sorry, Booth." Letting her head rest on his shoulder, she reached with her other hand, using both her hands to hold his firmly. Her two small hands barely covering his larger one. All of her attention focused on where their hands met, where they connected.

"It was just a dream, right, and you're here, you're...you're okay, so...it's okay."

"I am. I'm right here." She reaffirmed, patting his hand lightly, then squeezing it again, holding it tight between her own. "Some dreams are so real, it's hard to tell, hard to separate them...from...from," pausing to breathe, "from reality. They just feel real."

Booth leaned his head down, letting it fall against hers, where it still rested on his shoulder. Closing his eyes, he let himself get momentarily lost in the feel of her touch, the way her soft hands felt against his skin, the brush of her thumb as she moved it across his. It soothed him.

"Right." Her body moved with his as he took a sharp, deep breath, rising and falling together. "You're right."

He wouldn't ask her to tell him about her dream, she knew that, and part of her was happy to let the moment pass, let silence fill the room, just for a second, hoping their conversation would move onto something else, anything else. But she remembered a time when she stood in Sweets' office sharing the very story that inspired his night terror, the experience of being locked in the trunk of a car for two days at the hands of an abusive foster family. And even though he didn't want to, even though she could see it nearly killed him, he shared something from his own past so she wouldn't be alone in her vulnerability. Holding her breath, she closed her eyes. She didn't want him to be alone in his vulnerability, not tonight.

"You are familiar with the Hindu Kush mountain range in Afghanistan? The caves and tunnels there?" Of course he was, a high ranking soldier who served in Afghanistan, it was only natural he would be familiar with the area, but he didn't say anything, just nodded. "I visited there once, traveled the passes they suspect Alexander the Great and Genghis Khan traveled, took tours of the caves and tunnels, saw the Buddhas of Bamiyan."

He didn't know where she was going with this, but felt her unease grow and held her hand a little tighter. Another long breath, another pause before she started talking again. "I...I've had this dream before, though, admittedly not since I returned from Maluku." Swallowing thickly, she found her pulse starting to race just thinking about it. She needed to get it out, get it over with as quickly as possible, so she stammered on. "It's...it's always the same. I find myself running through those tunnels, endless tunnels, and I can hear you crying out in pain, you need help but your voice is echoing through the passageways and caverns and I can't tell where the sound is coming from. I stop and listen, I try, I...I...I keep running and doubling back, looking."

"Bones." He whispered, but she talked right over him, she couldn't stop, she just needed to say it.

"You need me, Booth, you need my help, and I can't find you, I can't help you. I can hear them torturing you, but I can't do anything about it. I keep running, searching, but I never find you." He didn't know if she was done telling him about the nightmare and didn't wait to find out.

"You've had this dream before?"

"Yes."

"When I was in Afghanistan and you were in Maluku?"

"Yes...many times."

"Before that?"

"No." Her answer hung in the air, he didn't know what to say. For god's sakes, why didn't she write or call, he just didn't understand. She didn't need to worry like that, he could have told her he wasn't in that kind of danger, could've saved her so much anxiety and grief.

"I was in Marjah." His voice low but strong, "spent some time in Kandahar. I was never that far north, Bones, never up in the mountains or the caves, never in that kind of danger."

"You were in an active warzone, Booth, you were always in that kind of danger."

Booth moved, pulling his hand from hers, forcing her to sit up, and causing her to panic momentarily because she could feel his withdraw. Maybe she'd said the wrong thing, maybe he took it the wrong way. But when she caught his eyes, they were tender, full of concern, and he opened his arms to her.

"C'mere." He motioned to her, inviting her into his arms. Hesitating, she looked like she wanted to accept his invitation, but wasn't sure of herself or him, he couldn't tell.

"Is this a guy hug?" She asked quietly.

"No...no it isn't." He watched her chest rise and fall rapidly as she took short little breaths, considering his offer. "It's a friend hug," he clarified.

"A friend hug?" This was new, this friend status, with new friend rules she wasn't well acquainted with.

"Yes, friend hugs are better than guy hugs." Motioning again, he encouraged her to come to him, then caught her elbow and tugged lightly. She let herself fall into his embrace, wrapping her arms around him, pulling herself in tight against his chest. It felt safe there, shielded from the darkness of the night. She found the strength of his embrace calming as he held her protectively. "Guy hugs are short, you know, but friend hugs, they last as long as they need to."

Bringing one hand up, he brushed her bangs aside and pressed a solid kiss to her forehead.

There in security of his arms, the steady beat of his heart in her ear, the warmth of his body next to hers, she fell asleep. He didn't have the heart or desire to move her, so he didn't, he held her, fighting to keep his own vigilant watch over her until he couldn't stay awake any longer himself. Somewhere in what little remained of the night they wiggled down, their bodies tangled loosely together, until they shared the bed he made for her on the couch.

There were no more nightmares that night, just peaceful sleep. She didn't wake until bright morning light peeked through his blinds and the loud scraping sound of the roads being cleared filled her ears. Stirring, she felt Booth's arms tighten around her, his rough protesting grumble made her smile. She should get up, she knew that, it was time to wake him, she thought, but couldn't resist the need to steal just a little more time with him just the way they were. He felt her burrow in, tucking herself along his body, holding onto him, fighting to keep this moment with him, and smiled when she stilled herself rather than getting up to go on about her day.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: I need to give a shoutout to mspteach, because I really did forget it was Thursday. What a crazy week!

I am so excited about the next two chapters that I actually considered dumping this one, snowybones talked me out of it, reminded me to be patient, which was good. There are some moments that this chapter was built around that I dearly love.

What do you think? What were your favorite moments?


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

"We are sun and moon, dear friend; we are sea and land. It is not our purpose to become each other; it is to recognize each other, to learn to see the other and honor him for what he is: each the other's opposite and complement."

― **Hermann Hesse** , **Narcissus and Goldmund**

They were almost to the front doors of her apartment building when Booth reached for her arm, letting his hand slide down until he could grab ahold of her hand, pulling her back toward him.

"Wait," he begged, looking around. The night was still. It was late enough that the open walking mall her apartment complex sat on the edge of was empty, but not too late, not so late that he needed to deliver her up to the door of her apartment as planned. "Let's just...walk for awhile, if that's okay, you know, I'm not really ready to…" He paused letting out a loud huff of a breath. "Can we just walk for a bit?"

"Yeah, yes," her slight smile, warm and reassuring, greeted him as their eyes darted across one another trying to connect, "of course."

They stood there for a minute, he was still holding her hand loosely, fiddling with her fingers. It felt like they were caught in some kind of relationship purgatory. Partners, which they'd always been. Best friends, territory they were reclaiming more every day. And this new state, teetering on the edge of more than friends. Smoke released into the universe in some kind of ritual from Booth's youth made this a state they toyed with, but made no definitive moves toward. It hovered just beyond their reach. They were in a holding pattern.

Looking down at their hands, he saw his, large and strong, rough. Hers, hers were soft but sure and deliberate, and he couldn't let go. They stood there for a minute, in the dark of the night, crisp air swirling around them. He was anxious about something, she could tell, and his nervousness left her with a sense of unease.

Old fashioned lampposts lined the mall and cast pools of yellow light on the wet cement. Wrapping his hand firmly around hers, he tugged, pulling her toward the open mall. There were things he wanted to talk about, needed to talk about, but he didn't know exactly how or where to start.

In her nervousness she sought for a way to break the silence. "You should bring Parker swimming sometime." Booth chuckled.

"It's still pretty cold out to swim, don't you think?"

"The pools heated, Booth, and they keep it covered until the weather stays warm."

"I guess I think of swimming as a summertime thing, you know, long hot lazy days, cold beer, barbecues, big warm towels baked in the sun." Sometimes the way she looked at him nearly stopped his heart, full of trust and wonder, that was the innocence he saw from early on in their partnership, and he knew it wasn't something she allowed everyone to see. He knew it was for him, that he was one of the only ones who got to see that look. That meant so much to him, that she trusted him like that. He wanted to hold onto the moment, keep it. "You know that feeling when you're in the pool too long and you get kinda cold and then you get out and lay down on the warm pool decking, right on it, and the heat makes the water around you warm, that's a good feeling, right? That's summer." She chuckled soft and low. Booth was sentimental about the oddest things, but she loved that about him, seeing the world through his eyes was one of her greatest pleasures and, if she was being honest, her greatest frustrations.

"Well, whenever you're ready to swim." He nodded, letting the quiet settle back between them.

Something flip flopped between them after that blizzard. Looking back on it, it seemed to him that since Hannah left and up until that day, it was all Bones, well, mostly Bones. She was the one that pushed them forward or maybe just held them together. She stayed with him at the bar that night, took him home, checked in on him the next day. She stood by him, in front of him, protecting him when people, especially Sweets, wanted to invade his space and push him. And when more than a couple days went by without seeing him, it was her that asked him about meeting for lunch or grabbing a drink after work.

But after the blizzard she, backed off wasn't right, she didn't back off, she didn't back away, more like she let him step up and take the lead. And when he took the lead he pushed her, he needed to, for him, he needed to see where they were, where she was. It was necessary, he knew that, but in some ways he regretted it, because it felt selfish, he felt selfish. After everything she deserved his trust and the way he pushed her, God, he remembered the flash of hurt in her eyes when he told her she was no better than the scientist that swore the sun revolved around the Earth. She didn't flinch, though, she stood firm, not by resisting him, not by denying him, but in the way she tried to make it work, tried to find a rational explanation for what he saw in Nepal, or didn't see, he still refused to tell her either way for sure.

He looked over at her, catching her just as she pulled her gaze away from him.

"I...uh...I feel like I owe you an apology, Bones."

"An apology?" She sounded surprised, a little confused, nervous.

"Yeah, you know, 'cause I've been a little…" Booth took a long uneasy breath, "hard on you...these last couple cases." She was already nodding in agreement, which told him she'd felt it, felt him push her.

"You don't need to apologize."

"I do...I mean...I want to…I didn't mea-"

"Booth, we push each other, it's one reason we are such a good team. My science, your gut. My brain, your heart. I push you to be more rational. You push me to follow my heart, accepting the possibility that there is more to life than being right." There was a sparkle in her eye, an understanding, a wisdom that completely captured him. "Although, I might not admit it, and most certainly would deny it if you were to ever bring it up amongst our colleagues and friends, I believe our success is in large part due to our extreme difference in perspective. We -

"Complement each other."

"Yes." She looked so alive, so confident and sure. This, this was what attracted him to her, this is what he saw when he stepped into that lecture hall on the American University campus, saw her for the very first time, and challenged her. Speaking again, she broke the silence that lingered between them. "Are you familiar with the chinese concept of yin and yang?"

"Yeah, of course, the little black and white curvy things on necklaces." She rolled her eyes, he flashed a knowing smile.

"The concept permeates the philosophy of Tao. On the surface they look like they're opposing forces, contrary in every way, but they're actually complementary and interdependent. They appear opposite but are in fact one, indivisible."

Bumping her shoulder lightly, he caught her attention, locking eyes.

"That's us." Smiling, she agreed.

"You don't have to apologize. You never have to apologize for that." He gave her a nod.

"Still," He took a deep breath, his mind already racing forward.

They fell back into the quiet of the night, letting the sounds of the city fill the gap in conversation. He caught her hand again, holding it, swinging it lightly between them as they walked together. With every step she found her heart picked up speed. This was new territory for them, these steps between friendship and more. And while she knew that holding hands could be defined as an act of friendship, along with countless other border activities they'd engaged in in the past, this felt different. This felt like more.

They hit the edge of the walking mall, stood there for a second, and turned back without saying a word. Yin and yang, one, how many times did they act in concert without even acknowledging it. It was so natural for them. So they walked in quiet contemplation, stealing glances at one another.

"There's more," he spoke softly, pulling her attention back to him. "You know, when we got back...here...to DC, I...I was...we didn't really ever, you know, talk much about your time in Maluku, I mean bits and pieces, here and there, but I'd like to know more abo-"

"You want to see the album." Blunt, to the point, that was his Bones. "You want to see the letters." His heart nearly stopped, letters, God, there was more than one. He stopped walking, closed his eyes momentarily, and cleared his throat.

"Bones, you didn't write or call or...why? I mean I know you said the phone was only for emergencies but I had no way to contact you, you knew that, we talked about that, I was waiting for that address or a phone number, anything. I thought...I mean you wrote, that letter means you wrote me, but I never got anything from you. Did you send something? Did it just not get to me?

Her anxious heart pounded loudly in her chest, her mind actively recounting the night he proposed to Hannah, his drunken rant, the horrible sense of pain she heard in his voice that night. They never talked about it, not what was said or what went unsaid between them, they just moved on, like it never happened. And while she knew eventually it would have to be discussed she couldn't help but worry about where this conversation would lead.

"They were nothing, Booth, really nothing."

"They wouldn't have been nothing to me." His voice was quiet, low and deep, but it echoed through her in a loud and powerful way. "They would've been something." Shaking her head emphatically in protest, she felt his hand tighten around her own. He wasn't going to let her go, not in any way, not this time.

"No. No, they were inconsequential, a simple recounting of daily events, not what I wanted...not what I needed to say. And when I finished writing them, each and every one of them, I just couldn't send them...I...I...I threw them away."

"Threw them away?"He looked hurt, hurt and confused.

"Yes." Her eyes fell closed. "Yes. I wouldn't have them at all if Daisy hadn't pulled them out of the trash."

"Daisy?"

"We shared a tent for most of the dig, she swears she didn't read them but it wouldn't have mattered if she did. They were nothing."

"I...I don't understand. Why?" It fell from his lips, desperate and pleading. "Why?"

She shrugged, hesitant and nervous, afraid her answer wouldn't be enough, feeling helpless to change the past. Then took a long deep breath and started walking again, he followed in step.

"I knew, Booth, I knew I was wrong...I...I knew. I already regretted it."

"Going to Maluku?'

"No." She jumped to correct herself. "Well, yes and no, Maluku…" She took another long deep breath. "Maluku was...that's not what I regretted." He caught her eyes, looking deep into their troubled depths.

"Us?"

"Yes." Her eyes searched his, looking for something to hold onto, something that told her that they were indivisible, that somehow their interdependence would save them, that he would understand her reasoning.

"When? When did, you know, when did you start regretting that?"

"Immediately." Her voice was quiet. This was new territory for them, she was opening herself up, leaving herself terribly vulnerable by sharing but it was a calculated risk, one she was willing to take. "When we danced at my high school reunion. When I went to dinner with Andrew and all night long I just wanted to be with you. When Catherine gave you that tie."

"Bones." He stepped closer, reaching for her other hand. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Her weight shifted, back and forth, an outward expression of her insecurities. He watched as her head fell in shame.

"Nothing had changed, I...I...I hadn't changed. I was still me. I was still-"

"Scared. You were scared."

His hand, warm and comforting, came up to cup her cheek. He was so close she could feel his breath, hard and fast, as it blew across her face. His thumb stroking her cheek lightly, and without consciously choosing to, she felt herself lean into his palm. Raising her chin, she ventured to look up at him and in that moment she knew he heard the heartfelt confession she offered up to his bedroom door the night Hannah left.

She nodded into the palm of his hand as he wrapped his other arm around her and pulled her into his chest. Cradled loosely in the safety of his arms, she continued to talk. This was better, it felt safer and she didn't have to watch the cascade of emotions fall across his face.

"I went to Maluku because...because somewhere I got lost in you. I needed to find myself, my strength, to stand on my own again. And it was working, I was gaining perspective, facing my fears, on my own. There were times where if I was here in DC, here, with you, I would have been afraid, I...I would have let you save me, but, but you weren't there in Maluku to pull the snake out of the jeep or face down armed militia, I had to do those things for myself, like I used to, before you, before our partnership, before us."

He was getting uneasy, she could feel it, everything she said seemed to be leading away from him, not toward him. Gripping tight fists full of his shirt, she pulled back, leaning away so she could see his reaction.

"But something happened I didn't expect, the stronger I got the more I wanted to be with you, the more I felt ready to take that risk. I wanted to tell you, but I didn't know how. I wrote letter after letter, but I didn't know how. I was strong enough to want it, but I wasn't sure I was strong enough to do it. When we got called home early I promised myself I'd tell you and when I saw you, oh my God, when I saw you, when we hugged, Booth, I was going to tell you, I was ready, but, but, you told me you met someone and -"

"You asked if it was serious." She nodded. "And I told you, as a heart attack." He pulled her back into his chest, his arms wrapped firmly around her, one hand on her back, the other held her head tucked under his chin, his lips pressed a firm kiss on the top of her head. Talk about a ridiculous comedy of errors, that was them, that was their story. "If I had known, Bones, I swear to God, if I had known I would've waited for you, no matter how long it took, I would've waited."

"I know. I know." Taking a deep breath she pulled away and started walking again, her apartment complex wasn't too far away. Turning to catch his gaze, she tried to explain. "I just wanted you to be happy, Booth, you deserved to be happy and if Hannah could do that fo-"

"I don't want to talk about her, this, just, she's not you, she could never, you were always the standard, Bones, always my standard. I was wrong about her, I was wrong about a lot of things."

"We both were." On that they could agree, both nodding, both feeling the weight of so many missed opportunities.

"But, not anymore, right? This time's different, we're different. and this time we'll-"

"Go for a different outcome," she added with a smile. He stopped abruptly, pulling her back the couple steps she'd gotten ahead of him. Cupping her cheeks in his hands, he leaned in, two hearts racing, lips brushing lightly, teasing, before connecting in a single lingering kiss. One to her lips, then one to her forehead.

He didn't walk her up to her apartment that night, he couldn't, the temptation to stay was too much and he knew they needed to take their time with this. One more chance, he reminded himself, one more chance to get it right. The universe had been very generous to them and he wasn't going to waste this chance to fix things, to set them right. So, he said goodnight at the doors to her complex, watched her walk in, waved as the elevator doors closed before turning and walking back to the SUV.

It was late the next day when a courier arrived with a package for him from the Jeffersonian. They didn't have a case, he wasn't expecting any evidence or records, or paperwork. It was from Bones, a padded envelope, and when he opened it, he smiled, bound together with twine was a small stack of letters each addressed to Sergeant Major Seeley Booth.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: I wanted to thank all of you for your continued support, for all the wonderful messages both about the story and personal, for the follows and favorites and time put into reading, and for your patience. I am both flattered and humbled.

Also a special thanks to Faithinbones for her help with this chapter. There are a lot of parts of season 6 I am just not a huge fan of, oddly enough, in contrast, some of the episodes are my series favorites, so there's that. These few episodes right after the blizzard episode are not on my list of favorites. I was having hard time understanding Booth's actions in those episodes, which was putting a serious snag in writing this chapter and she really helped by offering up a different point of view.

And, as always, thanks to Snowybones for her constant help, support, advice, and friendship.

I don't know about you guys, but I have found so many good friends through this fandom. I can't imagine my life without some of these people!

Anywho, I'm anxious to hear your thoughts on this chapter. What did you think of their conversation? Her explanation for the lack of contact between them? Her regrets reaching back to the steps of the Hoover? What do you think will be in those letters? Will they be as empty of meaning as she thinks they will?

Until next week, much happiness and love,

DG


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

"She is made up of depths even the ocean couldn't fathom."

― **Jessica Katoff**

"Booth?" There was an element of surprise in her voice as she swung her front door open.

"Hey." He looked, something, arms folded tightly across his chest, a couple steps back from the door, rocking back and forth a little on his heels. Things were good between them and his serious demeanor worried her. "Can I?" He nodded towards the inside of her apartment as he looked over her shoulder.

"Of course." Stepping back, she made room for him to slip in. "Did something happen? Do we have a case?" Cell phone in hand, she was already checking to see if she missed a call or message from him when she heard his answer.

"No, no we don't have a case." She was having a hard time reading him which was in turn making her anxious. "I just, can we...can we just sit for a..."

"Yes." She answered, taking up the spot in the corner of her couch where she was sitting and working before he knocked on her door.

Booth looked at her, surrounded by her work. Books and papers stacked neatly in piles for easy reference on her coffee table, glass of wine on the end table next to her, her laptop open in the middle of the couch between them. His eyes darted from item to item, then back to her. Reaching into the inside pocket of his suit coat he pulled out the letters she sent over by courier. Her eyes went wide. She sent the letters late in the day, sure he'd be long gone by the time they were delivered to his office, thinking he would get then in the morning. Eyes darting frantically about, she took a deep breath and held it.

"Uh . . . I wanted to . . . um . . . bring these back and . . . you know . . . tell you thank you for sharing them with me." They weren't nearly as neat as when he pulled them out of the package she sent them in, each one was opened, read, folded back up, stacked together. The whole bundle loosely tied together with a sloppy, lopsided bow. Booth leaned forward and set them on the table in front of him.

She only nodded. There was more, she could feel it, so she waited, but Booth didn't say anything, just sat there staring at them.

"You're not happy." Whispering softly, she swallowed hard against the lump of nervousness lodged in her throat.

Booth cleared his throat and took another sharp breath. It wasn't that, it wasn't that he wasn't happy. He actually enjoyed the letters, sat in the quiet of his office and read every one of them, some of them twice, some parts three or four times. Just as he predicted, they were so much more than nothing. A deep ache settled into the center of his chest as he sat there alone, the bullpen dark, nearly empty at the end of a long day, thinking of how things would've been different if he'd gotten even one of these letters. And he knew, really knew, he needed to talk to her about that. He just didn't know how.

"I'm happy." He offered, trying to reassure her, adding a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes and she looked unconvinced. He was making it worse, which wasn't his intention. Then he had an idea. "Hey, can I?" Motioning to her open laptop, he gathered it up in his lap before she could even protest.

Clearing her throat, she sat up straight and squared her shoulders.

"It's password protected, Booth, you won't be able to open it."

His eyes flashed, full of mischief and challenge. "I can." He set about typing in his couple fingered search and destroy method as she continued to protest.

"It's not Jupiter or daffodil or daisy, not any of those."

Looking up, he paused in the middle of entering the password.

"I know."

"I changed it."

"I figured you would. I'm counting on it," looking down at the keyboard, he paused for a moment, re-finding his place, and went back to work. Dramatically hitting the sign in button when he was finished. There was obvious surprise in her expression, a huff of disbelief, as the laptop sprung to life and the document she was typing filled the screen.

Whacking his arm lightly with the back of her hand, she protested. "That's impossible." She reached past him, took the laptop from him, and closed it quickly.

The sparkle in his eyes, that broad confident smile, and deep rich chuckle eased her tension.

"How?' She protested. "How did you do that?" Shaking her head in disbelief, she remembered with fondness a similar interaction deep in their shared history, then opened her laptop back up, and entered her password again to make sure it was the same as she remembered it. Baffled, she looked over at him.

"I know you." His mood rapidly changed from playful to solemn. "After our talk, you know, that night, I knew you would change your password." She gave him a sceptical sideways glance riddled with disbelief.

"You cheated, you must've looked when I was picking my date." She said confidently then stopped, he was shaking his head, gloating just a little, lightening the mood again. "No?"

"I didn't. Okay, maybe I pretended like I was looking, but I didn't see anything, I swear." He sat back, relishing his victory for a moment before explaining. "I know you, it's that simple. I asked you to pick a date for us, you know, for us to be ready to start something new, together, a new beginning, and you are a very rational person, Bones. September 10th is the day we first met, the day we started working our first case together, that was a beginning, our beginning, and this, you know, would be a beginning, so, September 10th of this year, that's the date you wrote down, right?" She nodded, her eyes wide with vulnerability. Booth paused, looking over at her and locking eyes. "I know you." Booth reached for the letters and pulled one out opening it up and clearing his throat before he started reading.

"It's monsoon season here, which has slowed our work considerably. We've been on the outskirts of most of the storms making them inconvenient more than anything else, but this one has hit the island particularly hard. Most of our activities have centered around protecting the dig site from runoff and flooding. We've been stuck inside the tents for days now with no indication that the storm will break any time soon.

"I find I do not tolerate inactivity well. In addition to complicating work it's made it impossible for supplies to make it to the island. The cook has resorted to bushmeat, which is a nice way of saying any kind of rodent or animal which can be caught and killed in our environs. I do believe it might even make you consider becoming a vegetarian. Unfortunately, with my vegetarian diet and no supplies I am reduced to eating mainly taro which is found in abundance here on the island. It is a fibrous root and tastes somewhat like a very fibrous starchy potato. I prefer potatoes.

"I miss the diner."

Booth let out a long sigh.

"You know what this says to me?" Eyes wide, heart pounding, she waited. Booth looked down at the fragile paper, her beautiful, exact handwriting spread across the page in neat even rows and back up to her. She looked delicate, like the paper he held in his hands. Her eyes nearly begging him to leave her inner thoughts unspoken. "You missed me." Catching her eyes, not letting them go. "You . . . you . . . were thinking about our meals at the diner, the food, sure, but it wasn't just about food. No, I mean, you know, I'm sure you missed the food there, especially, especially with nothing good to eat, but this was about us, this was about missing our work together, the intensity, the fast pace, about sitting across from each other at _our_ table and talking about a case or some crazy tradition of some newly discovered tribe you read about in one of your fancy anthropologist magazines and how it challenges every principle we believe in here, as a culture, and telling me I shouldn't eat so much meat or pie and . . . and . . . and, you know," he looked back down, studying his own hands, "stealing my fries."

"Booth." His name was barely audible, soft and low on her lips.

"Right?" She didn't answer, but he wasn't waiting for an answer. He set that letter down, still open, and grabbed another.

"The project has yielded no measurable success. It's been months and I haven't made one significant or even semi-significant find. I try to remind myself that these things take time. I hear your voice tell me this is a marathon, not a sprint, and we, I, have to approach it as such. Every morning when I drink my coffee I listen to you. Every morning you tell me to slow down and take a breath. I fear I am more of a sprint person by nature, I suppose I thought that was all I'd ever be, then you taught me I could be a marathon person."

The pile of open letters was growing bigger. Booth was moving through them faster and faster.

"I believe Ms. Wick is finally over her hero worship. Living in such close proximity has made her keenly aware of my fallibility, which, she has been quite vocal in pointing out, taking every opportunity to point out ways in which she has decided I fail. Not professionally, obviously, or intellectually, I am unquestionably superior in those aspects of my life. My personal life seems to be her focus, especially interpersonal relationships, which I have never claimed to have any particular skill at. It's good, I would prefer she makes her own decision regarding her life rather than do what she thinks I might do or would have done in the past."

"And this." Booth let out a particularly long sigh. "I have discovered I am no longer afraid of snakes. I believe I have encountered every size and variation the island has to offer. In my tent, sitting down at meal time, coiled up in one of my shoes, in the latrine and shower numerous times, in each and every vehicle the project has available, in my bags and other possessions, even in my bed. At first I turned and looked for you, a natural reflex I suppose, but, of course, you were not there. Now, I find I am not in the least bit afraid. It is not the only change. I have grown to not only tolerate Ms. Wick, but feel some affection toward her. I believe I am more patient with people's inabilities and/or shortcomings and I'm more generous with compliments. Also, I cut my hair."

After reading that last part he turned to her and, scooting closer, reached up to tuck a thick lock behind her ear, then tenderly brush it behind her shoulder. A shiver ran through her, one she couldn't hide and he watched as she let out a long breath and her shoulders dropped.

"It's grown a lot since we got back." Speaking softly, he stayed close, leaning in just a little bit closer. "I like it . . . longer . . . it's pretty." There was a catch in her breath, a sharp intake of air when he reached for her hand and held it. These little intimacies were happening more frequently. They were comfort in the storm of emotions and passions that raged between them.

This was not an easy transition, not at all like she'd imagine it. For some reason she thought it would be like Sweets always proffered, like a dam breaking. One step over the line would be akin to opening the floodgates and they'd tumble over the edge. It would all change at once, not this long drawn out, often painful, process. A single kiss would lead to sex, right then, and they would go from having nothing to everything.

But they kissed and the dam didn't break.

It wasn't lacking, not in any way. It was, it was, everything. She felt connected to Booth in a way that she didn't anticipate and couldn't begin to articulate. It was more than their first kiss on that first case they worked together. That was pure passion, a lustful kiss, full of so much potential it scared her. And the second time, well, the second time was stolen, ripped from his lips under mistletoe. And it felt stolen, like it could never be enough.

This latest kiss was, well, it was years of friendship and desire wrapped into one singular event. It wasn't an end, it didn't feel done, it was a beginning, the first of many, she was sure of it.

Booth rocked her from her reverie bumping her shoulder lightly. "You changed." He kept his voice low, just a little playful. "You told me once you couldn't, you know, change, that you didn't know how and I think what you wanted me to know when you wrote this letter was that you found a way, you learned how, and that if you could change all these other things, you know, you could find a way for us to be together." Booth paused, taking a sharp deep breath.

This conversation was stripping her, leaving her emotionally bare, he could feel it in her, which wasn't his intention. Wanting her to feel safe, protected by what they shared together, he pushed aside everything on the corner of her coffee table as she sat there, watching, her stormy eyes darting across him as he worked. Then he moved, sitting directly in front of her. His hands, big and strong and warm, came to rest lightly on the top of her knees, fidgeting nervously until they drifted around her legs and tucked up under her knees.

He tugged, pulling her a little closer, leaving his hands gripping the tops of her calves. Her tiny gasp, her quickened breath, the way she closed her eyes and let her lips fall just a little open, he could barely resist kissing her right then, but he'd come so far, too far to not finish. Letting his forehead press lightly against hers, he spoke in a low whisper.

"I thought I lost you, you know, when I didn't hear from you, I thought . . . I . . . I, God, I thought you didn't wa-" He stopped, mid word, unable to say it out loud. "It hurt, you know, I thought it meant something that you didn't write, that you never called. I mean, I know now, I knew when I saw that letter at your place and when I read these. God, Bones, I get it now, I understand."

The slight twitch of his fingers pulled her attention, she focused it on it, on the his grip, he was holding onto her, physically, emotionally, and she waited, barely moving, waiting for him to finish his thoughts.

"In all these letters, everything you said, everything you thought you didn't say, you know what's missing?"

Barely breathing, she sat still, and didn't answer.

"There's not one question about me, not one about what I'm doing or how I'm doing. Not one. Not in any of these letters." There was no anger in his voice, it was tender, full of understanding and she wasn't sure but she thought that made his words strike deeper, hurt more. It wasn't that she didn't want to know about his life in Afghanistan, she did, but it was complicated and she wasn't sure she could explain, still, she needed to try.

"I . . . I . . . I never finished them, the letters, I threw them away before I finis-" Stuttering, tripping over her words, she fell silent when she felt the palm of his hand tuck in along her cheek and his thumb drift across her lips.

"You don't have to explain, I already know. You were afraid of the answer, you were afraid I might be hurt or injured . . . or worse. I was like that cat. If you didn't ask then I was just the same as I was when you left me at the airport . . . I was Schneider's cat."

"Schrodingers'." She whispered, unable to resist correcting him. Her warm breath drifted across his lips and she leaned in just a little leaving them painfully close. For a moment there was nothing but the sound of their mingled breath between them. Then she spoke, softly. "I _know_ what it feels like to . . . to . . . to _lose_ you." Swallowing hard, she fought to keep control of her emotions. "I . . . remember." The emotion behind her simple words, the power and intensity of what she felt, left him momentarily speechless.

Thumping loudly, her heart pounded in her chest until it was all she could hear. Each beat flashing painful memories of the days she thought he was dead. Blood seeping through her fingers, the desperate look in his eyes, her own pained voice begging him to stay, official notification of his death, the loneliness, the sense of abandonment, the emptiness.

They never talked about it, not past her passionate rant in his bathroom, a little the next day when he found out Sweets chose not to tell her. It was overshadowed by the explosion in the lab, Zach's terrible accident, her horrifying discovery. Her beloved intern was Gormogon's apprentice.

And really, back then he didn't get it, he didn't understand, after all, he knew he wasn't dead. He didn't realize everything he'd come to mean to her. But now, feeling the forcefulness of her pain, how real and present it was, watching her tears fall, hearing the tremble in her voice, he understood, for the first time, how deeply it affected her.

"God, I'm so sorry, Bones." Tenderly, he wiped the tears from her cheeks, holding her close.

She sniffled, pulling in a deep breath. Shaking her head, still unable to speak. She didn't want him to be sorry, she didn't want him to feel bad, she just wanted him to understand. On her long list of regrets, not contacting him, not communicating with him while they were apart seemed to edging its way higher and higher by the day.

Booth stopped, took a minute to breathe, gave her a minute to do the same.

"I know it's scary. I know that even though you're being brave and strong, that this, this that we're starting, between us, is scary for you. I know that because I'm scared too, okay? But, we're going to do this, you and me, we both know it, it's coming, it's so close, and I need to know that I won't lose you again, I need to know that you won't run, because I can't lose you, not like when we left DC, not ever again. I can't. I . . . I . . . I need you, Bones."

"I know." She spoke as she nodded, just slightly, her forehead moving against his. "I won't shut you out, Booth, I promised myself awhile ago I'd never do that again."

"Okay, okay." He repeated, but his words were empty, his mind and body lost.

She was so close, so strong, leaning in, not shrinking away, she didn't run, like he feared she would, and he couldn't resist the pull, the soft brush of her lips, the overwhelming need to connect with her, to be closer. "I think I'm . . . I think I'm gonna k . . ." Their lips caught and they fell into a kiss. Then another because that first one wasn't enough, and a third, more open, more desperate, only made the his yearning worse. The tip of her tongue dragged along his bottom lip, lightly, driving him crazy with need. Their bodies collided, crashing together. He lost all control. Books and papers fell to the floor, the thin letters floated, scattering as they fell.

In one fluid move, he was back on the couch and she was on top of him, over him. His hands fell low on her hips and he couldn't resist the deep pleasured moan that echoed through her apartment. Short heavy breaths, pounding hearts, busy hands, all moving in concert, all ceased abruptly when the insistent vibrations and muffled ring of his cell phone was chased by hers, louder, buzzing against the hardwood of her coffee table. They fell back on each other, groaning in disbelief. And while the desire to ignore the blasted interruption was there, neither of them could. She slipped off his lap, reaching for hers while he reached beneath him, pulling his out of his back pocket.

"Florida?" Shaking his head in disbelief, he grumbled. They had a case. God, hot sticky, swampland, Florida, he wasn't a fan of this one time they went to Florida for a case, well, last time he didn't go, she ended up partnering with Sully, bastard.

"Yes. Florida." She sighed. He should have ignored it, the call, because this would have to wait, they would have to wait, because it wasn't happening now and it sure as hell wasn't happening in Florida.

Still a little breathless, he watched as she blushed and looked away, her eyes darting, barely landing on him before jumping off to somewhere else momentarily, then back to him. She seemed, almost shy. He stepped closer.

"You okay?" He asked softly, his hand coming up to her arm, rubbing softly.

When it happened it was so natural, so easy fall into him like that, to be with him like that, and she was ready for it, she waited for so long, but now, standing there, talking about work, a case, she realized this would take some juggling, some intense compartmentalization to transition from one to the other without either aspect of her life suffering because of the other.

"Yes, of course." Bold now, firm and composed, Booth smiled. That was his girl. "I will pack and meet you at the airport." Looking down at her watch she paused for a moment. "In an hour?"

"Yeah, sounds good. But, we probably need to talk, you know, about . . . this . . . I mean . . . we can't . . . when we're working a case . . . we can't . . . not when we're at, you know, work." He chuckled softly, looking back at her couch. She was nodding in agreement.

"Yes. Professionalism."

"Right." Booth cleared his throat. "And, you know, I'm not ready to, I just want it to be us for a while, you know, just ours."

"Yes. I agree. Ours."

"Good, we'll keep it private then."

"Yes."

Leaning in, he gave her a quick kiss, something to hold onto, something to let her know this was happening, that he wasn't back tracking or pulling away, then stepped back and smiled broadly.

"I'll see you in an hour then," and he left. "Florida," he grumbled as he made his way down the hall from her apartment. "Why Florida?"

ooooo0ooooo

Author's note: Sorry for posting this so late. This chapter gave me grief. Not when I wrote it. It actually came together fairly easily. It was after. Every time I went to work on it, I'd edit a little here, a little there, changing something else. It's just never felt done. In fact, right up to about 10 minutes before I posted I was still changing things. Hopefully, it ended well. You fine readers, deserve only the very best, you have been so absolutely wonderful to me!

Also, I have officially posted all my buffer chapters. A moderate flare (autoimmune disease) turned into a wicked flare and I got no real writing done this last couple weeks. That's okay, I'm better and about half way through the next chapter, so my posting schedule should not be affected.

So many of you guys asked about the content of the letters and now that they're out there, I'm dying to hear what you thought about them.

Much Love

DG

PS Thank you Boneslover7566! I totally thought I posted this but I didn't actually hit post...details...they do make a difference!


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

"The tides rolled up to crash against the shore while we sat feet from one another with the remnants of all we'd left unsaid..."

― **Katherine McIntyre** , **By the Sea**

A week. Seven days, maybe eight, two cases, back to back. No time to think about anything but work. No time alone together. It felt like they were losing ground. They shared that beautiful, intimate moment, the feel of her lips on his, the tangle of their tongues, her hips, round and soft, beneath his hands. Then, BOOM! The universe woke up and remembered it hated him, that he wasn't suppose to get that kind of happiness, not in this life, and yanked her right out of his grip.

Booth unlocked his apartment door, slipped in, and closed the door behind him, letting out a sigh specifically reserved for that moment he got home after a long, busy week. He put his gun in the wall safe in his entry way, tapping the books that hid it with his knuckles, as was his habit, and walked the few paces it took to get to his liquor cabinet. Pausing, he breathed in the rich musky smell of old hardwood and varnish blended with the lingering scent of wine and hard liquor. He needed a drink.

He put her in a cab outside the Founding Fathers less than an hour ago, got in his truck, and drove home, alone.

If you'd asked him a week ago, even a day ago, if this was how this Friday night was going to end he would've said no. He had a whole different end to the week in mind. One that picked up where the whole mess left off a little over a week and cases ago. Bones back in his arms. That's what he held onto all week, the feel of her body next to his, the need to be closer. That unspeakable drive that pushed two people to bare themselves to one another, shedding one layer at a time until there was no barriers left between them, drowning in the feel his skin pressed up against hers, every square inch of their bodies touching.

He shook off the visceral images flashing in his mind.

Something he didn't think he'd need to do as they waited for their flight to Florida in the Dulles International Airport because that's where he saw this going until one of her fans pushed their way through the crowded concourse, screaming, "Oh my God," over and over as she billowed out her name at the top of her lungs. Booth almost pulled his gun, he could do that, he was on protective duty, right? Protecting the FBI's asset, his asset.

Bringing his drink up to his lips, Booth took a long hard swallow and waited for the burn to pass before heading back to his bedroom.

Setting his drink down on his dresser, he let out a long huff of a breath. He was frustrated. It happened a couple more times before they boarded the plane, probably because that first lady was so goddamn loud she let whole airport knew Dr. Temperance Brennan, famous author, was there. And just when he thought it was safe, when they were finally settle in their seats and he was reaching for her hand, because more than anything else in that moment he felt like he needed to hold onto her, the stewardess went all fangirl on them and Bones was up out of her seat taking selfies with the lady.

It wasn't a big deal before, he ignored it for the most part. Unless someone got too close or got handsy or she looked like she was feeling uncomfortable. Then he'd take over and back the fan right up and out of her space. But it was different now, things were different now. He sat there, watching the stewardess, watching Bones, as the truth of their situation sunk in. They couldn't go anywhere without someone recognizing her.

Booth unlatched his watch, wriggling his hand, and letting it slip from his wrist into the tray he kept all his pocket chotzkies in.

The problem with being recognized was people watched everything she did and when he was with her, everything he did, hoping to catch any little thing _they_ did _together._ He couldn't give her a hug, not a real one, or lay a soft kiss on her temple, he couldn't even hold her goddamn hand. None of it. It was all off limits if they wanted to keep this relationship off twitter and out of the tabloids, if they wanted to keep it a secret. It'd be a helluva way for Hacker and Cullen to find out, open up their morning paper, turn on the news with a picture of the two of them doing just what they'd been denying was happening between them for years.

Florida was a short, thank God, he made sure it was a whirlwind trip. Then they were back in DC working the case from home. Plan B. He thought that was good, that it would give them more time, maybe they could reconnect, because after holding her, after being so close, it was hard to think of anything else.

But reality leveled him with another realization, this one much closer to home. One he might have missed completely if they hadn't been bombarded on their flight to and from Florida. When they went to the places they always went, to all their usual haunts, the diner, the Founding Fathers, a short walk on the mall or jog in the park, they were never really alone. Someone from the bureau, someone from the Jeffersonian, always seemed to pop up just as they were about to lean in and take what they were quickly beginning to classify as theirs.

Cockblocking sons of bitches.

It happened again right as he was putting her in the taxi less than an hour ago. Leaning in, standing so close, only the car door separating them, and he looked, God, he looked around to see if anyone was there, if he could sneak in one kiss to remind her that this was still going to happen, that they were going to happen. Lost in the rush of his own heart and the quickness of his breath, he almost missed it, Wendell, holler out a greeting from the other side of the street, waving. His head dropped in defeat, he gave her a look that begged forgiveness, and watched as she retreated into the cab, waving out the back window as she drove away.

Index cards and pens were next, then his badge. It was all part of his routine, poker chip, lighter, money clip, dice, change, all of it landed in a jumbled pile on the tray, until his pockets were empty. Finally, hulster and another drink. Grabbing his cell phone he headed his bathroom where he pulled the shower curtain and started the water running.

Booth shrugged out a his over shirt and pulled the black t-shirt off with one hand, letting both fall to the floor. Pushing his dark jeans and boxers down together, he stepped out of the organized heap using his feet to toe off his socks at the same time. One more drink emptied the tumbler and Booth stood there, naked, leaning against the bathroom counter as he stared down at the bottom of the glass momentarily before setting it down. The pounding spray of hot water couldn't come fast enough.

Half way across the city she was going through the paces of her own night time rituals. Although, admittedly, it wasn't standard procedure for her to bathe by candlelight, tonight she needed it as she struggled to make sense of her own jumbled emotions. Sitting on the edge of the tub in nothing but her silk robe, she sipped her wine and watched the water as it cascaded from the faucet, steam already gathering on the walls and mirror. The tub was nearly full, almost ready for her to climb in and start the jets.

She understood the need for discretion, if anyone feared the potential loss of their partnership it was her. She underestimated, however, how much she'd crave his touch, and not necessarily in grand acts of physical affection, though she certainly missed those too after their brief, but passionate interlude. Case in point, after the Florida case was over, while they were out celebrating, Booth slipped her seventh grade science fair medal over her head, letting it dangle around her neck. It sat there, laying over her hair, as they talked, until Booth set his drink down and reached forward, gently gathering her hair and pulling it out from underneath the wide ribbon.

She couldn't breath, the intimacy of that moment overwhelmed her so and she found herself, over the course of the next few days, purposefully leaving her hair tucked in under her jacket when she slipped it on, waiting for him to repeat the same simple act, which he did nearly every time. It was an experiment of sorts, the results of which were hard fast and reliable. It wasn't a fluke, a one time experience driven by the newness of his touch in that way. Every time he did it, every time he tenderly freed her hair from the confines of her overcoat, the same shiver ran through her, she shuddered, filled with the same rush of, she didn't know how to describe it, it was more than lustful desire, though it certainly awakened her the desire for a romantic interlude. It was deeper than that, though, it was an act filled with care, it was protective, maybe even a little possessive. It was a feeling she wasn't accustomed to, certainly not something she ever thought she'd, not just willingly accept, but crave. And she did crave it. Her scientific mind scrambled desperately to understand.

Brennan stood, loosened the tie on her robe and slipped out of it, hanging it carefully on a hook next to her tub. The water was hot, and her feet stung for a moment when she first dipped them in. She sighed deeply as she sunk down in the water and, after such a long week, let it wrap around her, accepting it's comfort. Pulling her knees up, she rested her head on her arms, which were folded around her legs.

She and Booth had always shared a relationship that tested the boundaries of appropriateness as far as coworkers and friends were concerned, driven, no doubt, by the undercurrent of sexual tension they adamantly denied. Just partners, they told the world, and each other. Just partners. But, looking back, being honest with herself, they were always more than partners, more than friends, and these gestures were deeply rooted in the bond they shared. They were an expression of everything they denied lay between them. His hand on the small of her back, guiding her, something she'd never let anyone else in the entire world do. The way they walked arm in arm, a "guy" hug, all of them outward symbols of the trust they shared, or to be even more honest with herself, a sign of how much she trusted him.

That was significant. She didn't trust easily, but given the evidence, and she might even argue empirical evidence, evidence gathered by observation and experience rather than logic or theory; she couldn't help wonder that if this little gesture evoked such strong feelings, what would making love to him feel like.

Uncurling her body, she reached over and started the jets to her jacuzzi tub. Bubbles roared to life, hot forceful streams of water massage away at her tension, her eyes fell shut as she sank down in the water and let the possibilities of that eventuality roll over her.

Booth didn't have a fancy tub, no jet powered relaxation waiting to pound away at his sore muscles. He quickly washed himself, rinsed out the tub and put the plug in, filling his old claw foot bathtub with the hottest water he could bare. Sitting curled up, because he was too tall for a tub made when men were smaller, he watched the water fill in around him.

He nearly blew it with her on this last case.

After everything, after a night spent rehearsing the letters she wrote him, speaking them out loud, spouting all that stuff about being open and communicating with him, Sweets had to go and point out that he was lying to her. God he felt trapped, sitting next the her as she drove, Sweets behind him, yapping on and on, making things worse by the second. Lying. He cringed at the memory of it. Things were going perfectly between them, right on course, and then, BOOM, whammy number two.

Radical honest, whoever thought that up was just a dumbass. Ask their victim what he thought about it, oh wait, you can't, cuz he's dead. He lost everything, his job, his family, his life. What was it with people? Moderation, that's what the world needed, a little moderation, knowing when to spill the beans and when keep your mouth shut.

He'd tried to fix it, as best he could, with no time and no space to make things right. After they returned to the Hoover with the clown, before she went back to her lab, he pulled her into his office, closing the door.

"It's not like Sweets is making it out to be."

"It's not?" She countered quickly, he could see the flash of irritation in her fiery eyes.

"No, Bones, it's not." Holding her gaze, locked, forcing her to stay connected with him, he continued. "I couldn't . . . I couldn't talk . . . not with him right -"

Of course Sweets picked that exact moment to come barging into Booth's office complaining about that stinky sonofabitch clown. Booth clammed up, completely stopped talking but he didn't shift his gaze away from her, he held her attention. Ignoring the psychologist, he gave Bones a sharp nod, which didn't go unnoticed by Sweets, and when she didn't acknowledge it, didn't give him one back, he waited, filling the room with awkward tension until she finally relented.

"Oh boy," Sweets uttered softly.

"Oh boy, nothing." Booth barked, then pointed directly at him. "Got it?"

Sweets worked with the pair for more than three years, he knew them pretty damn well, well enough to know when not to mess with the man and this was certainly one of those times. Without missing a beat the young psychologist switched gears and reported on his interview with the clown then stepped out of the way when Dr. Brennan left the room and Booth chased her out to the elevator.

Booth sucked in a huge long breath, pulling his knees up higher so he could sink down in the hot water while it lasted.

It weighed on her, this thought that he lied to her, he saw it, sitting across from her from her in the diner, at lunch, it was still there, in her demeanor, in her beautifully stormy eyes. The two of them, alone, together, surrounded by people. He wanted to reach out across the table and give her hand a good squeeze. He wanted to pull her into his lap and explain away all the doubts Sweets stirred in her. But he couldn't. So he did what he could. He acknowledged it, asked her what was bothering her, even though he knew, and dared her to address the elephant in the room, though she called it a pachyderm, which was so her, so endearing. Leaning in, he promised to address it when they were done with the case. Promised. No lies. He let her see it in his eyes.

Lying there, surrounded by swirling water, her mind wandered through her fantasies, back to Florida, home to DC, in and out of their latest case, until it landed in the middle of the Founding Fathers, on Booth's promise to tell her a time when he lied to her. He made good on his promise. She wasn't sure what she expected, but what he said certainly wasn't it.

He appreciated her support when Hannah left, that was his lie, that he never told her how much it meant to him, that it meant the world to him. He didn't say much more than that, adding that only that it was a lie of omission, because he didn't tell her, not an overt lie. But it was enough, more than enough. Even now, hours later, she felt emotion choke her ability to breathe. It was such a confusing and emotional time, for him, certainly, but also for herself. He was so angry, so bitter, and more than ever in her life she had to rely on something other than the facts evident before her to guide her decisions and interactions with him. Faith. Booth would call it faith. She didn't like that term.

Although, maybe she could accept it with a the small caveat that faith, in this instance, was based on her years of experience which granted her confidence and trust in him, in his ability to find his way through the anger and the bitterness. If she could help that happen, if she offer him patience and extend kindness to him, if that would help him, she would do it, she would do anything for him.

Even this evening, even her hasty acceptance of his previously unspoken appreciation, the speed at which she allowed him to move on without digging too deeply into his tender heart, that was an act of trust and protection. She understood. Years of their relationship could be described in her simple reply. "Some things are better left unsaid."

Sitting up, the water rolled off her body, which chilled almost immediately in the crisp evening air, forcing her to take in a sharp breath. She never could take long baths. The inactivity always got her. She stood, grabbing a towel, stepping out of the tub, while contemplating the all the things they didn't say over the years.

Across town, in a grittier part of the city, old, though he would prefer to call it classic, full of history, he was getting out of the tub too, still lost in the replay of their evening.

She said, "some things are better left unsaid," and he agreed with her. And maybe that was okay because they were in a crowded bar and it wasn't the time or place to tell her everything, all that stood behind his confession. And she could see it, he could tell, it was in her eyes, the unspoken understanding. Still, _it meant a lot to me that you were there for me when I broke up with Hannah,_ barely scratched the surface and the more he thought about it the more it bothered him.

 _Some things are better left unsaid_ , it echoed through him as they sat there, moving on quickly, talking about the clown who got arrested, not for the murder, for his outstanding warrant, and other clowns, clowns in general, about lotion and Mr. Bray, and he chuckled to himself, Wendell, she couldn't just call him Wendell. All these years with this group of interns and she still kept them at arm's length. Damn Zack, he did that to her, Zack and her parents and brother, Booth paused in thought, and him, he added to her walls, there was no escaping it, it was wrapped up tightly in this whole Hannah mess. The weight of that whole situation heavy on him whenever he dwelled on it for any length of time.

Things were changing, he reminded himself, and if _they_ were going to be different they would have to _be_ different. New habits, a new way of doing things. Reaching out for her, he grabbed her arm and pulled her back as they left the Founding Fathers.

"I was wrong, okay. I don't want things left unsaid between us, that was who we used to be, who we had to be because . . . because we weren't ready for more, but we are now and I don't want to just think about how beautiful you look or how smart you are or strong, I wanna tell you." He paused, waving to Charlie as he walked by on his way into the restaurant and bar. "Okay?" Her eyes were wide, her mouth barely open, and he waited just a moment longer, thinking she was about to say something, maybe argue with him, but she didn't. "Are you okay with that? Are you okay with me telling you those things?" She still looked shocked, stunned into silence, and he wasn't sure he'd ever said anything to her that made her pause like that. She nodded, whispering a quiet okay. "And other things, I want to say . . . I want to say other things, everything. Like it meant everything that you were there for me, not just a lot, everything. I didn't make it easy. I know that, Bones, but you . . . you . . . you didn't leave. I was hard. I said terrible things to you that night but you didn't leave . . . you stayed and . . . and . . . and you kept coming back. I saw that, I knew it, even in the middle of that . . . that darkness, I knew it, and . . . and I loved you for that."

Those beautiful eyes looked up at him, more blue than green, open and accepting, glossy with gathering tears.

"Listen, I can't take you home tonight. I want to, God, I want to more than I can . . . could ever . . . I just need a little more time, okay, Bones?"

"Of course. Yes. . . . Of course." She fumbled around, lost in the deep ocean of emotions this man constantly sent her tumbling through. And before she could say anything else he was waving down a cab and putting her in it.

Alone, he took a minute to just stand there, clearing his mind, trying to tune into the feeling that prompted his sudden change of plans. It was an unsettling realization. What if this feeling he had over the last week, over these two cases they worked so closely on, wasn't all about being in the public eye, about people watching them? What if it was more specific than that? She was gone, but that feeling of being watched, it was still there, louder. In fact, minus all the distractions, he felt it stronger than ever.

Shoving his hands down deep into his pockets, he took a long measured breath. Months had passed since they last heard from Broadsky, too long really. It was about time for him to resurface. His gut twisted. BOOM. Strike three. Maybe he was wrong, maybe he was taking a page out of Hodgins' book and leaning too far toward paranoia, but he sure as hell wasn't going to risk it.

All dried off, ready for bed, Booth tucked himself in under his bedsheets, turning to grab his phone off the nightstand.

 _I miss you,_ he typed and sent before he could talk himself out of the text. He knew her, she would chuckle at his sentimental musings.

He was right, she did, shaking her head but smiling broadly.

 _It's only been an hour and a half, tops._

 _I know_ , he shot back. Then sent a second text in quick succession. _I still miss you. Meet me at the diner tomorrow morning for breakfast 7:30am?_

 _6:00,_ she countered _, I have work to catch up on._

 _6:00? It's Saturday morning. Is nothing sacred to you?_

 _Sacred?_ She was confused. _You aren't Jewish, Booth._

 _What? LOL Not that kind of sacred, Bones._ That was his brilliant scientist and he loved every literal inch of her. _How about a compromise? 7:00?_

 _7:00 works. See you then._

Rolling onto his back, he let his phone, and the hand holding it, fall heavy on his bare chest. A long heavy sigh echoed in the darkness of his apartment. He knew he needed to tell her his suspicions, warn her that Broadsky was likely back in the area. And he would, once he was sure, reasonably sure, when it was more than just a hunch. Because Bones, she had a tendency to be a little oppositional. If he told her she needed to be extra careful he was pretty damn sure she'd find some way to put herself in danger. He couldn't risk that.

He'd feel it out over the weekend and if, or more likely when, he was sure he wasn't just being oversensitive, that what his gut was telling his was true, he'd set up some surveillance. Watch the people he'd be most likely to contact, order the techs to go back through the man's finances, do a records check, see if bought he bought any new properties, maybe even stake out his girlfriend's grave.

He wasn't going to let him get ahead of him this time, Broadsky wasn't going to get the upperhand.

Author's notes: Good grief! I'm sorry this is so late and for any errors or sloppiness this chapter may contain. I didn't finish writing it until mid morning and that didn't leave much room for revisions. Special thanks, by the way, to snowybones who helped me out.

I am way behind in answering reviews and I'm sorry for that, hopefully I'll catch up here soon.

You might be wondering, why they haven't done the deed yet. For a long time I wrestled with whether or not I was going to keep the same timeline as the show. I could, if I wanted to, speed things up, have them hit that jumping off point sooner. And trust me, I went back and forth, wrestling with it for a long time. In the end I decided to stick with the timeline, adding in the missing parts (according to me) and elaborating on their emotional journey during this time.

I don't think they would have gone from absolutely nothing to sleeping together, which is why I've added in the slow progression of their relationship. I also believe that if they were already sleeping together, Bones wouldn't have been sleeping on the couch. So I purposefully put them in a state where they were hovering on the edge of the line, where it was reasonable for Booth to not want their first time to be the night her intern was killed and why he would try and do the right thing by her, the noble thing. Certainly, it's only one of a million or so possibilities. There is no right or wrong way for them to finally come together. Thankfully, we are close to that happening in this story! WooHoo!

What do you think? Did you like this chapter? Please let me know your thoughts, they're priceless to me!

Much love

~DG


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

"I will become an ocean and make you my greatest secret ever, I'll keep thousands of demons to guard my secret. I'll create storms that none has ever seen. I will lure everyone to the darkest sides and will destroy them if they try to reach you and see what I am hiding back in my heart."

― **Akshay Vasu**

Staring down at the phone in her hands, Dr. Temperance Brennan didn't know exactly how to take the text message she just opened from Booth. It seemed out of character given the beautiful way their relationship was progressing, both work and personal. It was abrupt for Booth, his messages usually felt casual and chatty.

 _My office 8pm - park in lot 3B - bring that ridiculous gun of yours_

Eyes darting across the screen, she took a breath and tried to relax away the tension she felt rise up within her. She didn't know what to make of it and her concern prompted her to question rather than answer his demand.

 _Is everything okay?_

Flopping his head back against the back of his office chair, Booth sat slouched, staring up at the ceiling as he rocked back and forth. Everything was definitely not okay, but trying to explain that through text message just wasn't the best way to talk to her about it. He needed to do it face to face. Letting out a loud huff of frustration he sat up and started his response, deleted, and reworked it several times before sending.

 _We'll talk tonight, k? Just be here at 8 and make sure you park in 3B, it's important._

 _Okay_

 _Promise - 3B_

 _Yes, 3B, I promise._

For years she'd been parking next to his SUV, his assigned spot was first level with street access and close to the elevators. It was just the way they did things, and despite its prime location, other agents left the parking spot open for her. She was never sure whether they accepted her presence and recognized the spot as unofficially belonging to her or if Booth told everyone to leave it open for his partner. Regardless, this was different, radically different and change wasn't her strong suit. She found the whole interchange unsettling.

Sitting at her desk, she attempted to occupy herself with the paperwork for the Duval Price case while she waited for time to pass. It was nearly two hours until she needed to leave for the Hoover. Minutes felt like hours, every glance at the clock punctuating how slow time was passing. Eventually, she set aside the casework and tried to concentrate on something else, anything else. Answering emails, writing on a short story she was playing with, fiddling with the story arch of her next book, reading the latest edition of American Anthropologist, nothing held her attention for very long. Finally, she gave up, gathered her belongings, and headed for her car. She would be early, but she couldn't wait any longer.

Turning into the sheltered garage at the Hoover, one thing was immediately obvious, his car wasn't in its regular spot. She looked, specifically, as she drove past the first level, trying to see if there was anything out of the ordinary that might prompt his insistence that she park on the lowest level. She didn't see anything. The sights and sounds of underground parking followed her as she drove further down, the hum of bright artificial lights, loud echoing car engines, the high pitched squeal of tires, the smell of exhaust and something she'd never been able to accurately name. With each progressive turn she felt the knot in her stomach tighten.

She didn't like underground parking, it felt claustrophobic. But, it was clearly important to him and she gave him her word. Then she saw it, there it was, Booth's SUV stood alone, only a few other cars on the whole level. An odd sense of comfort filled her when it came to view and she found herself letting out a long held breath.

Parking next to him, she was quick to gather her belongings and head to the elevator not far from her car. Anxious, but unwilling to show it, she stood up straight, tall and strong. It was the little things, the minutia that few caught, that nobody saw. The way she rolled her lip between her teeth momentarily and closed her eyes, listening intently to the elevator ding as it passed floor after floor, carrying her to Booth.

He was hunched over his desk when she entered the bullpen, which was mostly dark and lifeless. His body tense, and even though she wasn't close enough to see per se, she was sure his jaw was pulsing. She cleared her throat rather than tapping on the metal frame of his office door, she didn't want to startle him. He looked up, eyes wide, full of emotion, tension, relief, so many contradicting feelings that she couldn't read him at all.

"Hey," he spoke softly, standing and walking around his desk. "You're early." She thought he was coming to greet her and when he grabbed ahold of her arms just above her elbows, she anticipated a kiss, which confused her because she knew he'd never do that in the middle of his office, no matter what time of day it was. Instead, he moved her further in his office, looked out across the bullpen conspiratorially, and closed the door behind her.

"So, do you have it?" He asked, holding out his hand. "Did you bring it with you?"

"My gun?"

"Yes."

She nodded, digging in her bag until she found it, then stopped, hesitating to actually hand it over to him. Shoving his open hand out closer to her, he silently asked for it again, then followed up when she still didn't comply. "You gotta trust me, okay?"

But she didn't pull the gun out of her bag, instead, she pulled her empty hand out, taking a step back, folding her arms across her chest, and stared right into his eyes. "Why?"

"Why should you trust me?" He countered, trying to defuse the growing tension with a little bit of humor and charm. "Because you love me."

"Booth." Flashing his very best charm smile didn't work and she watched as he let out a long sigh, riddled with worry. Taking a step closer, his eyes searching for hers, his countenance changing, growing somber.

"Because you know I wouldn't ask for your gun without a good reason." A simple nod of his head completed his thought.

It felt like it was about more than just a gun, her gun, and she floundered, weighing her raging independent spirit against her need to show him the trust he deserved. Watching her internal debate play out in her eyes, he waited.

"Okay." She finally conceded. Booth took the gun, checked the cylinder and safety, then placed it in his office gun safe pulling out a Glock 17, running it through a similar safety check before setting it on his desk.

This decision weighed on him all week. He couldn't be with her all the time, not and do his job, and her gun was just, well, gigantic, certainly nothing you'd wanna bring to an actual gunfight. She was safer without it, he felt that way for a long time, years actually, but, you know, pick your battles, and before now, it just wasn't the priority.

But, now, knowing what he knew, things were different. The last thing he needed was her doing something reckless, which she was certainly prone to do. What if she ended up in a gunfight with Broadsky, nothing but that unwieldy Smith and Wesson revolver to protect herself. She'd lose. Her odds weren't good to begin with and she might lose regardless, but he needed to give her a fighting chance, right? He needed to do everything he could to keep Broadsky away from her _and_ everything he could to make sure she was ready in case that didn't work, because the alternative struck absolute panic in his heart.

All this was a part of that.

"C'mere."

His movements were stiff and strong as he motioned for her to join him behind his desk, pointing toward three neatly laid out stacks of papers, a photo ID paper clipped to the top of each grouping.

"See this." He tapped the first set, a financial statement. "This is the credit card statement for Jamal Peterson. He was a member of the Fourth Brigade Combat Team, the same one Paula Ashwaldt was a part of, the unit Broadsky saved." Highlighted in bright yellow was a credit card purchase for two nights at the Kimpton Inn. "Just two nights." Booth moved his fingers to the second set of papers. "And this is Thomas Choat. He was a sniper, trained under Broadsky, Jake used to call him Tommy Boy, I know him, kind of know of him, Jacob used to talk about him all the time." His fingers dragged along a similar line, pointing to the information. "One night at the Renaissance Inn."

Booth pulled back as she leaned in to examine the documents, letting out a heavy sigh, and rubbing the back of his neck hard and fast. "And then there's William Preston, remember him?" She nodded. Booth picked up the last stack of papers, rolling it nervously in his hands as he spoke, before flopping it back down in front of her. "Charges were declined, Bill's in Houston, someone stole his card information and tried to use it, here in DC, to register at the Hilton Garden Inn yesterday, for two nights, like an hour after Bill paid for lunch with the same credit card in Texas, it tripped the fraud alert and froze his account."

Watching her eyes as they darted from one document to another, different names, different hotels, different, but consecutive days, he could see her start to piece the information together.

"When Bill was here, during the Gravedigger case he said something, talked about how Broadsky would buy stuff, using other snipers names, have the bill sent to them, stuff he liked, like the copper, a specific brand of flux, other stuff, you know, to make his own bullets. It kept him off the grid."

"You think he's back." Booth only nodded at first.

"I, uh, well, yeah, I mean I don't have proof, not what you would consider proof anyway, just this so far, we're checking with the first two card holders to see if the charges were legit, but, these guys, they feel a sort of allegiance to Broadsky. What did you call it, a closed community, elite members of a closed community always intersect, right? That's what you said. This is a pretty tightknit group. Soldiers, most of us started out as soldiers, a brotherhood, our lives depended on that. Just look at Jamal Peterson, he owes his life to Broadsky. They'll lie, they'll cover for him." Looking down at the floor he stammered around for a moment. "So, it's not much, but that's all I got so far, that and a feeling."

"Your gut."

"Yeah, I've been feeling it for awhile now. I mean, at first, I thought, I just felt like I was being watched and I dismissed it, but it just kept coming back, you know, until I couldn't dismiss it anymore, so I started looking into it."

"Watched?" Booth nodded. She didn't like the fact that Broadsky might be watching him. He increasingly made this personal, him verses Booth. And as much as Booth was worried about her safety, she was worried about his. "Oh." It connected for her, the scene outside the Founding Fathers, how quickly things shifted between them, how abruptly plans changed. "Last weekend, that's why-"

"Yeah." He cut her off before she could finish her thought. "We're following up, you know, showing Broadsky's picture around, but Jacob, he's smart, I doubt we'll find much." A sharp intake of air and Booth was momentarily distracted, this woman, the woman that he loved was about to lay into him, he could see it. She stood up a little straighter, squared her shoulders, as fire danced in her eyes.

"I get it, I understand, but what does this have to do with my gun? I'm your partner. I can't defend you if I'm unarmed, Booth." He smiled, which only angered her.

"I know...I know." Reaching for the gun he set on his desk earlier, he handed it to her. "This one, you'll carry this one for now. It's more your size, easier to handle, and more accurate." She held the gun, adjusting it in her hands, letting it settle, feeling the weight of it. It was a lot lighter and the grip felt more natural. "I reserved a spot for us down at the firing range, we're going down there in a few minutes so you can get a real feel for it, fire off some practice rounds." He nodded, one sharp, single nod. She gave him one back in return.

Manny was there, checked them in, gave them their safety goggles and ear protection, then watched as they made their way to toward the booths that lined the top section of the range, picking one. Those two, over 9,000 employees worked out of the Hoover and he was pretty sure every single one of them knew the history of these partners and he'd just about bet his retirement that all of them belonged to one or more pool betting on if and when they'd ever get together. Personally, he liked watching them. All his years at the range, he'd watched Booth grow up, her too, though not as closely. They were both just kids when they started coming down and sparing, always vying for dominance, those two. They were still kids to him, always would be, but, God, they bickered like an old married couple.

Booth gave her her space at first. Let her play, after giving her a brief tour of the gun. He knew better than to lecture her, she could hold her own when it came to firearms. A point she made abundantly clear over the years. Besides, that's not what this was about. He was more interested in watching her stance, her breathing, her accuracy. Which he did, stepping back, focusing, evaluating as he stood, arms folded tightly across his chest. And he did that for a long time before stepping up behind her and clearing his throat.

He didn't speak at first, just wrapped his arms around her and adjusted her grip, a little here a little there. The way the grip of the gun settled between her thumb and index finger, the placement of her weak hand over her strong one. He leaned in, talking softly, holding both her hands so he carried the weight of the weapon.

"Relax." He commanded. "And keep your hands relaxed. You're gripping too tight." She nodded, though it was so slight it was almost imperceptible.

Then he moved onto her stance, letting his hands drop from her hands to her hips, still behind her, he shifted them and her feet, encouraging her to move her left foot forward just a little in front of her right one by tapping it with his own and moving his hands along her hips.

"I know it seems like you should lead with your dominate foot, but that's not the case. Put your right foot forward just a little, this way you . . .," whatever he said next drifted away into nothing. His body pressed right up against hers as he kept talking and moving her into the right position, his warm breath tickling her neck as he spoke. She was trying to focus, trying very hard, but it seemed impossible.

And then his right hand moved from her hip where it rested, to her stomach, tucking up high, right below her breasts, spreading out wide, his fingers twitching slightly, moving, adjusting against her diaphragm.

"Go ahead, Bones, shoot." His voice cut through her addled haze, it was sharp, as if he was asking for a second or third time.

"What? Like this?" She sounded alarmed, in fact she was pretty sure her voice cracked a little but Booth was so focused he didn't notice.

"Yeah, is there a problem with that? I need to check your breathing."

Manny watched from his position in the Range Master's booth in amusement. Agent Booth was so focused on her stance, buzzing around her, and there was Dr. Brennan, the man chuckled out loud, shaking his head in disbelief. God, the woman was cocky as hell, he'd never, in all his years, ever seen her flustered like this.

"Booth." She whispered.

"Just shoot, Bones." She shot, several rounds in quick succession, then tried to pull away from him. He resisted, pulled her back firmly against his chest. "Your breathing's all off. Take a breath, exhale, just a little, like half, hold it, shoot, then let the rest of it out."

"I know." She said softly. "I know."

"You've gotta do more than know it, okay? This is important. You have to get it under control. It'll make your shot more steady, more accurate, it's critical . . . it's . . . it's everything." There was a unexpected sharpness to his tone. "Try again."

He couldn't explain the weight of this to her, not here, how he'd been lying awake at night worrying about this very thing, about her in a fight for her life with Broadsky. If he found out, if he knew what Bones meant to him, he'd go after her, he was sure of it, and if something happened, God, if something happened to her, he couldn't even consider that.

She was in the process of pulling it back together, finding her balance and focus, as instructed, when he tucked in closer this time, holding her tighter, a feeling beyond arousal washed over her, making it nearly impossible to resist the urge to slam him up against small partitions that separated the lanes of the range and plunder him right there in the middle of the FBI firing range.

Taking a breath, she closed her eyes momentarily, refocused, forcing herself to ignore his presence. Compartmentalize, she told herself, before opening her eyes and focusing down range at the target. One shot, she got off one shot before she felt his the warm palm of his hand move on her hip, squeezing it lightly, and everything about his proximity flooded her body and mind. His physicality, each taut muscle, rippling with tension, that hard body pressed up against her own, his breath, hot and heavy, that voice, deep, rich, vibrating through her. She got off a couple more shots then forcibly pulled away.

Pulling forward the target she just shot at and comparing it to the previous one, he didn't know what to think. On her own she got five solid hits, one a kill shot, for sure, the others, all torso, they'd slow him down at least. But, the the purpose of this exercise was to improve her chances. Broadsky was a professional and to think he couldn't, or wouldn't keep shooting accurately even injured, well, that was mistake. The one she did with him, the target that was supposed to be better after he adjusted her stance and grip, she only got in two torso shots, one other shot hit the paper, but wasn't within the lines representing the person, the other shots missed altogether, all of them.

It wasn't until he stopped studying the paper targets and looked back over at her that he realized how flustered she looked. Wild eyes darting around the room, observing everyone around them, her short, rapid breaths, the warm pink on her cheeks and that little triangle of skin right below where her collar bones met, which only drew his attention to her racing pulse. Pausing he stopped to take her in, really focus on her, not just her stance or grip or accuracy, her, the woman he loved. He watched as she set a new target up, got herself in position, adjusted according to all his counsel and instruction he gave her, aimed, and fired. He could tell, even from where he stood, still holding the other targets, that this round was dead on accurate. Five kill shots, all to the the core of the target.

"Hey," he called out to her when she was done, placing a hand on her shoulder and gently turning her around. "Sorry." She blushed, shaking her head slightly. "Why don't we get outta here, huh, Bones? Maybe grab some dinner." Letting out a long sigh of relief, she agreed.

They were on their way back to her car when he reached out, grabbed her arm, and pulled her back abruptly.

"Argue with me." He ordered in a brusque, hushed tone. She looked at him for a second before starting to pull away again, marching forward.

"We don't argue, Booth, we never argue, we bicker."

"So now we're arguing over arguing." Chasing her, happy she was at least playing along.

Back and forth they went, escalating in intensity until it he grabbed her hand and pulled her behind a huge cement pillar, pressing hard against her, a hand on either side of her head. Reaching up, she met him in one long, passionate kiss that ended when neither could wait one more second for oxygen.

"God, I love that." He whispered against her lips.

"No security coverage?" She asked between shorter, but still intense kisses.

"No." He answered right below her ear, against the most sensitive skin of her neck. He was lost in the tender sounds of her acceptance as he slowly kissed his way down, and happy to be so until she regained just enough conscious thought to ask why he insisted she park down on 3B.

The weight of all his worries over her safety fall hard around him.

"Bones." He said pulling back just enough to really connect with her eyes. "I . . . God, I want this, I've waited for this for so long, we both have, but we can't . . . we can't . . ." She was flat out evil incarnated, leaning back in, softly kissing his neck, each kiss getting a little more open, a little more aggressive, firmer, pulling him back in, she didn't want to hear, _we can't_. She refused to hear it.

Not after all they'd been through, not after such a perfect week working together, feeling that connection with him through this terrible case, watching him support her when Sweet berated her, not by taking over, not by doing it for her, which she had an issue with, because she could defend herself, but by standing beside her, by touching her leg under the table in a show of solidarity, by reminding her that he knew she wasn't as cold as people thought she was, aloud, to Sweets and Caroline Julian. After all that, voluntarily admitting his fears of being like his father, speaking his determination to not be that man. After everything, the thought of waiting nearly killed her. He felt her hands at his waist, working on his belt and gathered them up in his own, halting her progress.

"We can't . . . we . . . we can't. I killed his girlfriend."

"You didn't kill anyone, she committed suicide, I remember, I was there when you got the call." She was easily as angry as she was passionate.

"In his eyes I killed her and, God, Bones, he wouldn't hesitate to kill you if he knew, if he even thought you were mine. I know it." She looked up at him and he was sure he saw in those raging eyes of hers what she must have seen in his when she first got to his office. "I know it. You aren't safe, not if he finds out, not if he knows. It has got to be business as usual until I catch him, Bones, has to be." Her heart was pounding and her eyes fell shut as she tried to regain her composure.

"Okay." She whispered. "Okay."

"I'll get him, Bones, I swear to God, I'll get him." He leaned in for another kiss, this one almost chaste comparatively. "Trust me," he said as he pulled a little farther away, "I'm very motivated."

One last kiss. That was it. Then they straightened themselves, each taking a deep breath.

"Motivated," she echoed. "Yes."

She went first. Walked to her car ahead of him, got in, got settled and started it. He followed, tapping on her window, reminding her that they'd meet at the diner for dinner, because that was business as usual, before separating for the night. She pulled away, circling her way up as she exited the garage. He got in his SUV and followed her. Chasing, he was always chasing her. He'd explain over dinner more of the ins and outs of his search for Broadsky and why he needed her to park in 3B until he was caught. She agreed outwardly as she cursed Jacob Broadsky inwardly.

They finished up, left the diner, and headed their separate ways, Booth more determined than ever to capture the man that was keeping him from finally catching her.

ooooo0ooooo

Author's Note: I appreciate you all so very much! I really do! I am sorry this is up so late, but, I swear, it's still Thursday here in California, at least for a couple more hours, okay, maybe just a little over an hour, but still Thursday nonetheless.

Anyway, I'll keep this short.

Thank you, by the way, for being so accepting of all the mistakes in the last chapter, I will hopefully get those corrected this weekend. Hopefully, you can be as generous with this chapter. I hate rushing to get it out, but after this crazy election cycle and the absolutely jaw dropping finale to it, I figured posting a distraction was more important than waiting to find and fix mistakes!

I'd love to hear from you. How'd you like this chapter? What do you think? Hate Broadsky just a little bit more?

Much love and hugs

DG


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

"[The waves] move across a faint horizon, the rush of love and the surge of grief, the respite of peace and then fear again, the heart that beats and then lies still, the rise and fall and rise and fall of all of it, the incoming and the outgoing, the infinite procession of life. And the ocean wraps the earth, a reminder. The mysteries come forward in waves."

― **Susan Casey** , **The Wave: In Pursuit of the Rogues, Freaks, and Giants of the Ocean**

In his arms, his quiet consolations seemed distant, far away as she felt the strength of his heartbeat vibrating through her. Closing her eyes, she let herself get lost in the rhythmic sound. There was a peace to the loud pounding that expressed itself in tears, tears carrying all the jumbled emotion of such a horrible and traumatic day. They sucked her under and threatened to overtake her. But, Booth was there holding onto her, tethering her to him.

And he was happy to do it, he'd waited all day for this, to feel her body safe next to his, just like this. When they said their goodnights and he closed his bedroom door, separating them for the night, he thought it wasn't going to happen, he thought he'd just have to bear the emptiness he felt alone because she didn't need what he needed, or at least it felt that way. That hurt, he thought they were farther along than that, but he understood.

Thank God he was wrong.

Letting out a long sigh, he blinked into the darkness of his bedroom, letting his hands drift along the old soft grey sweatshirt that shrouded her shoulder and back, his touch firm but tender. She still needed that, his strength to ground her, remind her that she was safe and he would protect her. He could feel the resistance in her as she fought for control of her emotions. Booth understood, his own mind still racing through the day.

Broadsky was spotted putting flowers on his girlfriend's grave.

A text, one simple sentence that changed everything. All those seemingly unrelated clues spread out across the last couple weeks, his phantom feelings of being watched, every concern he expressed in looks and quiet conversations, his overly protective gestures and text messages, they all came together and knotted themselves into a terrible sense of dread. It shook him, the look in her eyes when he stood up from their table at the diner. He saw it, watched as her sweet, excited laughter died, her expression darkened, and worry overshadowed her. Pausing momentarily, he shared a brief unspoken exchange with her _. Be careful_ her eyes pleaded, begged. _I will_ , his answered.

A couple slight nods from her and he was gone.

Leaving her there in the diner was one of the hardest things he'd done in a long time. His gut churning, screaming a warning. Comforting himself, he let his heightened state of alert be his guide. He was careful, stayed in close contact, checked in on her at the lab. She's safer there, he told himself, though part of him wanted her close. Booth couldn't help the slight jerk in his body as the thought made him shudder, she reacted by gripping him tighter. Safer at the lab. God, if he'd known then what he knew now. Hindsight, right? Clear but pointless because there had been no way to know what was coming, no way.

Swallowing hard, he pulled her a little closer, continuing his quiet consolations. "I'm here." He whispered. "It's hard, I know, I've been there." And he did know, she knew he did, present at the death of more than one comrade, who, just like Mr. Nigel-Murray, died as he tried desperately to save them. "It's okay to cry, Temperance, I've got you now. I'm right here."

He used the intimacy of her given name and it stole her breath away, her shuddered gasp told him so. Pressing a firm kiss to her forehead, he let his lips linger, soft but strong, wisps of his warm breath falling across her face. It was okay to cry. His words echoed through her and letting go, she sobbed. Her body, wracked with the pain of loss, filled with guilt and fear of what could have been, what still could be, jerked in his arms.

"Tighter." She begged him. "Hold me tighter." She wanted to remember this, etch it permanently in her mind in case he left to chase Brodsky and never came back.

It was real for her, the possibility of losing him. It happened before. Even though it had turned out to be a ruse, she hadn't known that at the time, and even when it was clear he was alive, the loss of him had still felt so painfully real. That night, in that stupid club, singing that stupid song, his death became a reality that lingered, always on the edge of her consciousness. Once she tasted the pain and emptiness it would bring, she knew it was something she'd never forget, could never escape.

But if she could hold onto this, the feeling of being in his arms, the connection, the safety she felt, the security, tucked away from the darkness of life, then maybe the memory of it would give her something to hang onto. It wouldn't be enough if she lost him, she knew that, but it would be something.

"Tighter." She whispered and he pulled her in closer, his strong arms wrapped tightly around her, until she stopped crying, until her body calmed, until one breath at a time she relaxed into him.

"Come on. C'mere," maneuvering them both, he settled them in the middle of his bed underneath the covers, speaking softly, encouraging her. "That's it. That's better, right?"

And it was better, it felt permanent, not temporary, not fleeting, like she could slip through his arms and disappear at any moment. She hummed her quiet approval as she nodded against his chest. Reaching out, her delicate hand clenched around a fist full of his t-shirt in a quiet act of possession and for a moment he could breathe again. Such a simple gesture, but it meant everything to him. Releasing some of the heavy tension he had carried all day, he let out a long sigh. His muscles, relaxing, fell weighted around her body and another sweet sigh of approval slipped from her lips. He was comforted by her need to cling to him, it meant he wasn't alone, she felt it too.

But the loud, almost deafening recollection of events chased them, the echo of every word spoken, every nuance played on a constant loop in his head, and from the waves of tension that rolled off of her, it was chasing her too. For him, it was the look in her young intern's eyes, bright and vibrant, then pleading, then dim, until there was nothing at all. In desperation, his attention was divided between her and the boy until it was only her. And he wanted to pull her into his arms, right then, right there, to protect her, to shield her from the invading chaos. But she was already lost, the lab, her lab, her sanctuary breached. Paramedics, agents, crime scene techs, all familiar to her, and yet they all seemed like strangers ambushing her privacy. He watched her systematically shut down.

And he got it, he understood, it was about survival and she did what she had to do, what worked for her. The tender woman who tearfully begged her intern to understand that he was loved, that he could stay, was gone. She was all science, no emotion, her full on clinical self. It was her coping mechanism, he expected that, but once they were home, in his apartment, just them, she didn't have to keep up appearances, not with him. She should know better, she should know she could be herself with him, she could cry or scream or do whatever she needed to deal and he would be there for her.

But she didn't.

Maintaining that same sciencey distance, she kept him at arm's length, her eyes begging him not to get too close, not to push her. And he honored that, setting aside his own longing. Hours he tossed and turned, listening, hoping he'd hear her if she needed him, that damned door, separating them.

She wanted her privacy, he reminded himself, for whatever reason she wasn't ready to let him into her grief and he was going to have to be okay with that, she'd come get him if something changed, at least he hoped so. And if she didn't come, but he heard her restlessness or a strangled sob through his bedroom door or that old transom window hanging open above it, then going to check on her, well, that would be justified, right? It would be an act of concern.

So he laid there, listening, until he fell asleep.

Thank God she came to him when she was ready, when she couldn't bear it alone anymore and she asked to stay with him, in his bed, in his arms. It was a relief. Letting his hand drift up, he gently brushed her cheek, holding her close, placing a firm kiss on the top of her head.

She took a deep breath, a solid one, not shuddered, not followed by more tears, and then another, and another, until her hand relaxed, letting go of his t-shirt, smoothing it out across his chest until she felt the faint ridges of a scar, one of many on this man who fought all his life for every scrap of peace and happiness he ever found. Circling lightly, her fingers traced the old wound in a smooth even pattern.

She was still on the surface as the wave of raw emotion ebbed, giving way to active thought so loud he could almost hear it. He could feel the pull of an obvious undertow threatening to swallow her up. Closing his eyes he pulled her in closer, held her tighter knowing that even here, tucked in his arms, she could slip away from him, knowing these were the moments she was most prone to run.

Racing thoughts, one memory chased by another, every time she almost lost Booth, every opportunity she wasted because she was too busy protecting her vulnerable heart. A long daisy chain of regret strung together until it wrapped around her, choking her. No more regrets, she promised herself that, and him, she promised him too.

"It . . . it could've . . . it could've been you." Her voice, small and shaky, cut through the silence carrying so much pain. Tension squeezed her words, which felt entirely insufficient to her, they couldn't begin to convey the depth of her feelings.

Afterall, how could she make him understand that every time she closed her eyes she was kneeling over his body, not Mr. Nigel-Murray's. Booth's blood seeping through her fingers, his lifeless eyes staring up at her. And she didn't have to imagine, just remember. Even telling him, even saying the words, didn't diminish the need she felt, her desperate urge to be closer to him, to hear his heartbeat, to feel the warmth of his body next to hers, which was completely irrational because she knew he was alive, he was there with her, his arms holding her close, his strong hands moving against her, her body rising and falling with each breath he took, but it wasn't enough.

"Bones." His voice rough with emotion because he knew she was wrong. It wouldn't have been him, it would've been her. Without Vincent there she would've reached for the phone and he would've handed it to her. It would've been her, he knew it would've been her. She felt the tension course through his body and let her hand round his chest, tucking in beneath him, drawing him in closer, holding him tighter until he finally took a breath. "I'm here, okay? It wasn't me. I'm right here, baby, right here."

Taking in a deep breath, she held it and he couldn't help holding his too, waiting for her to breathe for what seemed like forever. Anxious, she closed her eyes, gathering courage to say what she knew she had to say.

"I love you." Loud and clear and strong, her voice poured out, filling the room. "I love you, Booth." She felt his sharp intake of air, heard his heart pounding faster and harder in her ear. "I need to you to know that….I just need you to know that I love you...before...before..."

He rolled them before she could finish, so they were laying on their sides. He wanted to see her face, to look in her eyes, to connect. But, she didn't like the movement and panicked momentarily, thinking he was pulling away. Clinging to him she rolled them further, settling on her back and pulling him nearly on top of her, using all her strength to hold him there. Dark, soft curls framed her face, splayed out across Booth's white linens where her head sunk deep into his pillow. And those stormy blue eyes, pure, honest, revealing, called up to him. The weight of his body fell on her side. It felt so good, was such a relief, so safe, to be surrounded by him in this way. His fingers wound their way through her hair, his palm resting on her jaw, and his beautiful eyes, those dark, warm eyes, always the calm to her storm, knotted and bound them together.

His voice quivered, overwhelmed by the words he thought he'd never hear pass her lips. "God, Bones, I...I...love you too." Thick with emotion, he stuttered, lost for a moment in the feel of her hand pressed firmly on his back, holding him close as he tried to maneuver onto one elbow so he could see her better. "I'm not leaving, I swear, I...I just..." With the lightest touch he swept her tousled hair out of her face, behind her ear, light kisses replaced the few tears that came with her bold confession. "I just...God, I love you so much." He whispered, his forehead leaning lightly against hers.

Pulling away just a little he was taken by the sight of her, soft eyes, lips slightly parted, short shallow breaths, and he couldn't resist. He was leaning in to kiss her when she met him halfway capturing his lips and pulling him down on her. It was beautiful and natural, light at first, hesitant but needy, then stronger as their bodies pressed together. The more they moved the closer they got, the closer they got the stronger and more overwhelming the hunger for more became. Tangled, cleaving to one another, twisted in the reality of almost losing one another, the vivid memories of what could have been, the reprieve they were given, survival, life, another chance, motivated each kiss, each touch, each act of affection. Raw, senses heightened, they felt it all with great intensity.

Even so, it wasn't enough, none of it felt like enough.

She tugged and pulled, wiggling until he fell cradled between her legs. The intimate contact sent a deep, pleasured moan vibrating through her where his mouth lay open against her neck, tucked beneath the base of her ear. Rising up involuntarily, her shoulder crowded his nuzzling lips, then stretched out afraid she'd discourage him by pinching him off.

This is what she needed from him, this closeness, the intimacy, the connection, and for a moment it satisfied, for a moment, but then her hand caught bare skin on the small of his back and her need rose up demanding more. His hips rocked into her, his mouth drifted lazily down her neck kissing and suckling, until he felt her hands gather his t-shirt and cold night air hit his bare skin, traveling up his back as she pulled his shirt up and off. He stopped long enough to help, shedding the soft, black t-shirt and settling back down in her arms.

It was a dream, her expert hands, the ones he studied and watched, that held him mesmerized all these years, captured him from the very beginning, they were working, tracing, memorizing him. He shivered as they ran smoothly up his arms and across his shoulders, rounding, falling down to his chest, tenderly tracing each scar as she went until they paused. Her eyes darted between the one she'd been tracing earlier in the night and his deep, chocolate eyes. She'd seen it before, but not like this. Letting her other hand drift across his chest, he watched as it stopped slightly above his left breast, where her young intern was shot.

She lingered, lost in what could have been a different night for her. The catch in her breath, the pain swallowing up her whole expression, her whole being, he ached for her. Her attention drifted back to the old wound. Replacing her fingers with her lips, she pulled herself up and kissed it.

"It wasn't me." He whispered, "I'm right here and I'm not leaving, okay? It wasn't me."

She fell back and let her hands continue their journey, wanting more than ever to get lost in how alive he really was. Desperate for evidence. Down his sides, over the edge of his sleep pants slung low on his hips, her hands drawn to where their bodies met, his pressing against hers, then making their way back up. Constantly moving, traveling the well defined length of every muscle, the cuffs of the old grey sweatshirt he leant her lightly brushing against him as they went. And then she caught his eyes, holding them captive as she crossed her arms, reaching for the frayed edge at the bottom of the sweatshirt and began to pull it up. His breath loud, harder and faster, his large hand, following, skimming along her pale flesh until he helped to pull it over her head.

He collapsed on her, covering her completely, overwhelmed by the feel of his bare chest pressed firmly against her own, she welcomed him. This was Booth, her Booth, her protector, shielding her in the most intimate of way. Hooking her arms under his, she spread her hands out along the back of his shoulders, her fingers wide to hold him close, allowing herself to be sheltered by this man she'd loved for so long.

She felt his muscles bunch under her hands as he rose up, lifting the bulk of his weight, looking down on her he shifted, his eyes wandering. God, she was beautiful, far more than he'd ever imagined. She watched him carefully, longing for him to touch her, to feel the slight roughness of his hands against her skin. Closing her eyes momentarily, she felt his fingers trace the edge of her collarbone trailing their way down her sternum, the back of his hand against the swell of her breast, his palm rounding, cupping. There was a reverence to his touch she found too light, it left her aching for more, a deeper, firmer touch and she arched her body up against his open palm in a silent plea, adding a deep hum of relief.

It was all he needed.

It was a blur, after that, their bodies never lost contact. They were lost in a symphony of sound, of breath and passion and desperation, an expression of shared history and love. His lips burning a trail along her skin, following each graceful curve, each soft plane. And she answered each gift of touch with one of her own, exploring, cataloguing, giving until her greedy hands pushed at the waistband of his pants, frustrated by their lack of movement, until he reached between them and pulled the tie loose. Her hands pushing the garment away, traveling as far down his legs as she could, his pleasured moans tickling her ear. Hers came off easier, both kicked and pushed down to the bottom of the bed, wedged between the sheets with all the other remnants of their clothes.

Bare, coiled together, hearts pounding, they paused, panting, trying to catch their breath. Grey light was beginning to pour in between the cracks in his blinds, dawn was coming, a new day. Their eyes caught, her lip rolled between her teeth, then slipped as quickly back out. The back of his hand followed the sensitive slope of inside of her thigh, and she nodded, slight, barely negligible at first, then stronger, encouraging, beseeching. And when his fingers reached between them, lightly pressing, testing, and her hips rose up to meet him, he collapsed, recapturing her mouth, declaring his love between kisses, rocking, barely pressing into her.

Her pleasured gasp, the stifled flinch of her body, caused him to pause, to slow down. He didn't want to hurt her. Slow, steady pushes, a little farther with each swing of his hips, he set an even rhythm. It was beautiful torture. And she could hear the tension building in his voice as he talked to her, his lips still worshiping against her skin.

"I love you, Temperance. God, I've always loved you. I always will."

She couldn't respond, couldn't think, couldn't speak, just nodded, her eyes darting across his fine features, her hands pulling at his hips, forcing him all the way in as relief flooded her entire body. This was what she needed to fill the aching emptiness that chased her all day. She needed him, all of him, to complete her, fill her up, and the feel of him moving within her brought her a peace far beyond any pleasure she'd ever known with any man. Harder and faster he moved, their pace naturally picking up speed as their bodies raced, the tension and pleasure building until they broke apart, shattering, splintering, more than hormones, she felt connected to Booth. They were one, alive and whole.

"I love you too," she breathed out, cradling his body in hers. "I love you too."

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: I am so sorry for the long delay in getting this chapter done and out there. Real life rose up and knocked me a little sideways and then my own frustrations in writing kept me running in circles with this chapter. I had a very specific goal with it. I wanted it to be intense and raw, their coupling driven by that need that comes from almost losing someone you love. I think they both felt that that fateful night. Special thanks to snowybones and chosenname who saved my sanity with this chapter!

I'll try to get back to posting regularly, hopefully life will cooperate! I'm excited for the next chapter, lots of big plans. Okay, I'll give you a hint...bathtub...I know, I know, I have a bit of an obsession with them. It's a temptation I just can't resist.

I'm also participating in the Bonesology's Secret Santa Gift Exchange and I really LOVE the gift request I received!

Anyway, I'd love to know if you think I hit the mark with this chapter. Your thoughts and insights are always cherished! Thank you again!

Much love

DG


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

"When I lean my ear up against your seashell heart, I can hear an ocean...roaring inside."

― **John Mark Green**

They were barely through the door to her apartment when she dropped all her belongings and launched herself into Booth's arms, nearly knocking him over. Wobbling just a little, his arms fell around her, pulling her in.

"It's okay. We're okay." Burying her head under his chin, she held him fiercely. "It's over. We're safe and he's locked up. I was there, Bones, walked him down to lock up myself just to be sure."

She'd worried all day, her mind running in circles, in and out of varying thoughts of Booth. Helping him find Broadsky her primary concern, always a starting point, but then her thoughts would wander and she'd get lost in their many shared experiences, the changes taking place between them. The feel on his body pressed against hers, over her, under her, around her. It was so real, an almost tactile memory which eventually brought her back to the, also very real, danger he was in and her need to focus so she could help keep him safe.

Safe.

He was safe.

Shaw's phone call, the notification that Broadsky was in custody, the relief she felt upon hearing it, was immeasurable. Still, she wanted to talk to him, hear his voice, hold him in her arms, quantify his safety. It was irrational, she told herself, he was busy, she was busy, knowing that he was out of danger and unharmed should be enough. It had to be enough, otherwise, how would they survive, how could _she_ survive the uncertainty of the day to day dangers they faced in their profession. Like so many other times in her life, she would force it to be enough. Moving quickly to the next emotional land mine, she busied herself with preparations for an informal farewell to Mr. Vincent Nigel-Murray.

Pulling him in closer, she clung to his chest and forced herself to breathe.

"It's over." Whispering this time, he answered her tight hold on him with softness, his hands running up and down her arms and back. "I'm here. We're here...together, okay? It's over."

It wasn't until she walked up to the loading dock and heard him telling Angela that he barely knew the young English intern that the depth of her need hit her, an overwhelming wave of emotion, not just one, all of them, every emotion, every thought, every worry, every relief, all at once and she stopped, clinging to that plant like it was some kind of life preserver, and steeled her expressions. Compartmentalize, she commanded herself. Compartmentalize. They weren't alone, not remotely, and she couldn't act on her impulse, she had to hold it in, wait, for this, to be alone with him, like this.

"Hey, hey," grabbing her by the shoulders he pulled her back just a little, just enough to catch her gaze. "Hey, you know what you need? A bath, a long, hot, soaking bath. I'll run it for you, okay? It'll be good, get you all warmed up and relaxed, and maybe we can order in some food, I know you and I bet you haven't eaten all day, you must be hungry, right? I'm starved."

"And a drink," she added. He laughed.

"And a drink, God, yes, a drink." He laughed again. "You get the drinks and I'll get the bath."

He watched her walk away before making his way to her bathroom, leaving his suit coat on a chair in her bedroom and rolling up his sleeves as he went. They hadn't talked, not really, not since they left his apartment early in the morning, and it weighed on him. Not seeing each other, not talking about this huge thing that changed between them, meant he didn't really know where she was with all of it, where her head was. Well, except for the glances she gave him as they stood around her intern's coffin and the way she linked her arm through his before they headed back into the lab. The quiet way she asked him to take her home, that was significant, enough to let him know she was still with him, but he wanted more, knowing this wasn't going to be an easy transition for them.

Smoothing his tie down against his chest, he held it as he leaned down and plugged the tub, turned the water on, and adjusted it to just the right temperature. He felt guilty, just a little, for expecting her to run away. It's just that's what she did, in the past, she always had, always, and, God, he didn't think he could handle it if she backpedaled like that. If that was going to happen, he wanted to see it coming, he wanted a fighting chance, enough time to convince her to stay, to not give up on him, on them. His fingers drifted underneath the water, testing it again before he shook his hand off and stood up. He shouldn't worry. It was her that asked him to take her home, her that broke the silence of the long drive to her apartment with one, emotion-filled plea, "stay." She asked him. That was a good sign, had to be.

"Right." Muttering to himself, Booth looked around the spacious bathroom.

There were candles scattered on counters and decorative shelves and even around the tub itself. Pulling out his lighter, he set to work, deciding dim light would be peaceful after such a long couple of days. He was looking around at the warm flickering light when she stepped quietly into the room wearing a silky, pale pink robe and carrying a bottle of scotch and two tumblers. She lifted them a little as an offering.

Transfixed, he was slow to speak. "Hey." His hands reached, taking the bottle and glasses from her, he set them down on the tile ledge that surrounded her large jacuzzi tub.

He couldn't resist the pull of her and found himself stepping in closer, his hands lightly brushing her hips, his fingers twitching against the cool, smooth fabric, his light touch tickling.

"You ready?" Stumbling over his words, he offered to go order food for them while she took a good long soak.

"Don't go." She interrupted, her voice confident but soft, her nimble fingers already working on his tie, "I want you to stay." Those eyes, her eyes, held him and he swore he couldn't breathe.

Nodding, he swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing as she watched intently. Hands wandering down the rounded curve of her hips, he felt the slip of the silk along her bare skin. His heart raced. Closing his eyes momentarily, he let himself get lost in the feel of her undressing him, overwhelmed by the thought of her wanting to be with him in this way. A year ago he'd given up on that, on them, on this ever happening, but here he was, with her and it was happening, had happened.

Making love to her in the early hours of the morning, it was driven, the desperate act of two people jolted awake by the knowledge that they nearly lost each other. It was powered by their need to connect in the most elemental way, to not just _try_ to be one, but to _actually_ become one, because they had to, to survive, at least that's what it felt like. In that desperation he caught glimpses, images that flashed, connecting what he saw to the feel of her body in his hands, against his skin, underneath his lips. But, standing with her now, like this, he was overcome by the desire for more, to see her, all of her.

Pushing the shirt off his shoulders, she let it fall to the floor, bringing her hands quickly back to run over the strong planes of his chest, and as he watched her eyes study him, he wondered if she was feeling it too. She barely paused before she went to work on his pants, looking up at him briefly, and while part of him wanted to luxuriate in the feel of that moment, he was driven by his own insatiable need.

It was a simple touch at first, the back of his knuckles down the long stretch of her neck, and she stopped, her whole being paused, she even held her breath briefly as his fingers played with the soft edge of her robe. And when his hand slid under the edge she gasped, quick, quiet, like she was trying to control it as she waited for more, his hand slowly pushed that satiny fabric out of the way, enough so he could see her delicate collarbone and the hollow that fell just above it. Then farther, to reveal her whole shoulder. Stepping a little closer, he laid a kiss there, pleased with the shiver that ran through her and the sweet sounds of approval she offered him. God, she was addictive, all of her, and this, the feel of that silky robe, the slow reveal of her body, the involuntary sounds of pleasure she made, he wanted it all.

Cam once told him that he had to be sure about Bones, about his feelings for her, before he confessed them, pursued them, because if he went down that road and then changed his mind, he'd ruin her. She'd never trust anyone ever again. But, after last night he was sure Cam got it wrong. It was _him_ that was lost, ruined. There could never be, would never be, another woman for him. He was sure of it.

Reaching for the tie to her robe, he played with it while she undid his belt, the button to his trousers, his zipper, pausing only to step out of his pants as they fell to the floor. One tug and the soft bow came apart, the robe fell loose, barely covering her. The feel of her hand pushing his boxers down, the way the robe slipped off her shoulders, floating down her body until it rested there with his pants and shirt.

"We better get in that bath, Bones...now...or I swear to God, it's not gonna happen." Chuckling lightly, her beautiful low, guttural laughter echoed in his ears. She had no idea the effect she on him, the little things that undid him.

Glancing between him and the tub, she motioned first with her head then tugged on his hand. They stepped in, sinking deep into the warm water, and she was reminded how physically taxing his work was on his battered body when he let out a loud moan of relief. Reaching past him, she pressed a button on the side of the tub and the bubbles sprang to life, water beating against his flesh from almost every angle.

"Oh, God," he mumbled, "that feels good."

He didn't see her shake her head slightly at his exaggerated response or her soft smile, his eyes were closed. So, when he felt her hands grab ahold of his calf he was surprised and resisted momentarily as she pulled to guide his leg.

"Trust me." Her voice was firm but tender and he relaxed as she guided one leg and then the other so the bottoms of his feet were directly over the jets on either side of her. Watching his expression was magic. She often contemplated the benefits a jetted tub might offer Booth. It was funny to her that she studied ancient cultures and peoples, but was more modern than Booth in many ways. She enjoyed the conveniences technological advances afforded while he was fascinated with antiques. The old way of doing things, black coffee brewed, percolated, in an old fashioned coffee pot, traditional values and mores, old phones and refrigerators, cars, old apartments and pipes and bathtubs, his being an old enamel covered, cast iron clawfoot, with no jets. "Better?" She whispered.

"Well, yeah, much better." Opening his eyes, he found her staring at him, she looked, God, he didn't know, it wasn't lost or sad, but it was definitely something. "You okay?"

"Yes." Her head dipped, her gaze falling to her hands as they moved back and forth in the water. Guilty. He sat up and the water whooshed around them lapping up on the edges of the tub. Swallowing hard, she took a deep breath, and confessed. "I told Angela." It seemed like a long pause, which made her nervous. He didn't know what he was expecting her to say, but that wasn't it. "I didn't mean to," she rushed to explain. "I mean, It just sorta popped out when she asked me if I was distracted by Mr. Nigel-Murray's dea-"

"It's okay." He rushed to reassure her.

"But, it's ours, we talked about this being ours and that we weren't going to tell anyo-"

"Bones."

"She just has this way." Exasperation filled her tone, exasperation, and defeat. It was Angela's _way_ that worried Booth. He knew her, knew she'd want every little detail she could weasel out of Bones.

"She's your best friend." It came out unintentionally terse.

"Still."

"It's okay...it's okay, you know because ours means it's not just mine, right, it's yours too and if you want to share it or need to share it, then that's okay, alright? It's okay." She wasn't sure whether he was trying to convince her or himself.

"She swore she wouldn't tell anyone."

"She told you that." His voice relaxed a little. "Yes, except Hodgins...because they're married which she said means they have an obligation to share."

"She's right. Two people in a committed relationship tell each other things, that's true."

"But she's not going to tell anyone else until I tell her it's okay. She promised."

"That's good." But he hesitated and she caught it, he saw it in her reaction. "I mean, I just need to know if she's going to so I can handle it with Hacker. He needs to hear it from me, you know, I don't want him finding out from someone else." This was a test, he was sure of it, the first of many times they'd need to talk things through, communicate, come to an understanding or compromise. He needed her to feel safe and comfortable about doing that with him. Grabbing her by the hand, he tugged lightly, pulling her in to settle between his legs, against his chest.

"How much did you tell her...about, you know, last night?" Craning her head, she looked up at him, water dripping from her as she rose up a little.

"You mean details?"

"Yeah, details." He cringed at the word. Details. Bones, she had no problem being open about her sex life, it nearly drove him crazy, years of stories, her telling him about her and other men. It was torture.

"None. No details." Taking a long staggered breath, she exhaled sharply and settled back down into his arms, speaking softly. "I know how private you are about sexual matters...and...and...I believe that the details are definitely ours and as such should be kept largely between us." She could feel his body relax beneath her as she lay quietly in his arms. His hands moving now, sliding along the edges of her, scooping warm water over her exposed shoulders. "Besides, I don't know what I would have said, how to…it was...last night was...different. I've never experienced anything...like that...it was more..." Her breath became heavier as she struggled to put her thoughts into words. Pushing against his chest, she sat up enough to see him, to search his eyes.

"It was, Bones. It was more."

She was looking for something, he could see it, but he didn't know what, didn't know how to answer whatever it was, a doubt, a fear, a comparison. And he wasn't sure, but he thought maybe she wanted to know if it was always like that for him, with other women, because he saw something flash in her eyes, a worry, a concern, that maybe the experience they shared, being together, intimately, was new for her, but not for him, that he'd shared something that intense with someone else, not her. And he wanted to answer that, wanted her to know that it was different, not just for her, for him too, that it was the most profound sexual experience of his life, the deepest connection he'd ever felt, with anyone. But, she launched into another question so quickly he missed his moment.

"Will...will making love always be like that for us?" There was an honesty in there, a childlike innocence he always found when she turned to him for understanding she couldn't find on her own. It made him stop, pause, think about what she was asking.

Making love.

She said it, _making love_. Not intercourse or coitus or copulation or fornication, though that was a bit too biblical for her, it was a terms she used in the past. Point was, she didn't use any distancing term, she used his term, _making love_ , and more than anything he wanted to tell her yes, God, yes, but it wasn't that simple. Sitting up, they adjusted, their bodies tangling together as they huddled close. His hand floated up her arm, across her shoulder, his fingers gently sweeping her bangs and the wet wisps of hair glued to her forehead and cheeks back out of the way.

"I don't know, Bones." Truth, he always tried to tell her the truth. "I mean, I think each time will be different. Maybe sometimes, like last night, when we're scared because we almost lost each other, yeah, it might be like that. I think it'll always be intense with us, because of who we are, our personalities, we're both so physical and passionate, about everything, you know. Very passionate."

"Passionate. Yes." That's how she'd imagined them, passionate, demanding, teetering on the edge, falling over. And then he pulled back from her because what he needed to say to her was important and she felt the sudden loss of his proximity.

"I promise you this, it'll never be just sex between us, never empty," and she didn't know where that was coming from but it was obviously something important to him. "And never in anger, no angry sex."

"What about make-up sex? Angela assures me that make-up sex is…" her low chuckle and sly grin pulled the seriousness right out of what he was trying to tell her, "...quite satisfying."

"Makeup sex is different, it's not angry, subtle differences, Bones, and I'd rather not fight to the point that we need make-up sex, I'd rather just work things out between us, you know, talk. But, that's not the point, the point is, I just want you to know I'll never touch you in anger." She could see the truth of it in his eyes.

"I know you wouldn't."

"It'll always be making love with us, Bones, I promise, it'll always be about the love we share." Those deep brown eyes reached out to her, warm and caring, pulling her in. "There'll be times I can't wait, you know, not long enough to get you to a bed, when I need you or you need me right then, right there." She felt her heart racing as she pictured that, she'd felt it before with him, that desire, that need. It always had to be repressed before, but not now, not anymore. Her pulse jumped at the thought as his hands began to move against her, creating an intoxicating friction.

Swallowing hard, she let his rich, deep voice entreat her.

"And lazy mornings, when we don't want to get out of bed, when every touch is deep and intense because our senses are just waking up, God, waking up with you. I wanna be there when you wake up." His hand rounded her hip and pulled her in closer, because distance, any distance between them was feeling unbearable. "And I imagine, sometimes we'll be tired but need it, you know, it'll be comforting at the end of a long day." Tucking in, his lips brushed against her ear as he spoke. "I think it'll be something new each time, something amazing, just ours, always ours." She nodded against his lips, agreeing in soft sighs and mewls before pulling back and laying her lips on his.

"Now." She whispered against his lips. "I need you now."

The candle lights flickered, dancing, warm, yellow light and deep, heavy shadows played over their bare bodies. She stood, pulling him with her as they maneuvered their way out of the tub, leaving those candles burning and water bubbling, tumbling through her room to her bed, falling into one another.

It was different but no less intense.

They took their time, talked and laughed and loved, building the tension, letting it ebb and flow naturally as they twisted and turned, exploring each curve and plane. A beautiful blur of sight and sound and touch and taste, taking them to the edge of sensory overload. Trading long held desires back and forth, acting on impulse.

"I love this spot." He told her as his hand drifted lazily back and forth over the small of her back, his lips chasing, following closely behind. And she countered.

"I've always wanted to touch you here." Remembering how hard it was to undress him and not touch his perfect body, she let her kisses fall, rounding his acromion, heading across his clavicle, pressed as closely to the foundation of his bones as she could. "And here." As she traveled down his rectus abdominis. The guttural sounds of his pleasure encouraging her.

"This curve," his hand traced the long slope that fell from her her ribs to the deep hollow of her waist and back out along her hips. "You're...you're...so beautiful."

"Booth" She blushed, shaking her head slightly at the compliment, but she smiled, her eyes dancing.

And he spoke of each the times when her beauty nearly drove him over the edge as his fingers played across those enticing curves and his lips pressed to her skin over and over. Some she understood, Jeffersonian events when they were dressed to the nines, Undercover in Vegas and the circus, that skimpy outfit and fishnet stockings, her Wonder Woman costume. Some that surprised her, a certain pair of jeans she wore late nights doing paperwork because they were comfortable and she knew she'd be sitting on the floor. Exercise pants and old t-shirts she wore on their long runs together along the Mall. A sundress she wore a couple Saturdays, to the zoo with Parker and a picnic lunch that sent them running for cover when the skies opened up and they got caught in a downpour.

Cradling her in his arms, he watched her release, first without him, lips parted, soft panting breaths, his name desperate in his ears, and then with him, those beautiful fingers clinging to his arms, holding tight as they fell together, refusing to separate. They were still wrapped around each other when she reached down and pulled the covers up around them, her cheek resting on the smooth skin of his chest, his heart pounding in her ear.

Eating could wait, drinks, work plans and funeral plans and when to tell who plans, could wait. The world and all its complications could wait. There would be time to blow out candles and pick up the bathroom, find a place for Booth to store the numerous items he carried in his pockets and order food, for now, they needed this. They needed the intimacy of this moment.

Rolling, he pressed a firm kiss on her forehead. "I love you, Bones."

"I love you too, Booth."

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: Happy belated holidays! Sorry this chapter took so long, I paused to write my Secret Santa story for grc73 and read hers for me. If you haven't read it yet, it's fabulous...The Snowbound in the Smoke Hole. I love her stories! There have been so many great stories this holiday season for the Bonesology Secret Santa, lots to curl up and read to!

Anyways, thank you to all for the support you've given me in my writing, for your favorites and follows and reviews, for encouraging messages. I've wrestled with a couple bad flares this winter and that support has been a great distraction and keep me going! There are so many of you, I couldn't list them all and would worry if I did that I left someone out. Please know I cherish the friendships I've made here!

Special thanks to snowybones, faithinbones, jazzyproz, and morebonesplz for helping me work through some story kinks and the trap I always fall into, overthinking it all!

I don't know exactly where I'm ending this story, but I know it's not yet. Probably a little past her pregnancy reveal but before what would be the beginning of season 7 and I already have an epilogue planned that I'm pretty excited about.

Every time I rewatch season 6 I feel like I've been pulled through a knothole. This chapter was very much a, we got through it, chapter for me, a rest stop before getting back on the road, and facing new challenges and complications. As my dad is prone to say about life, if it's not one damn thing it's another.

I'm actually really nervous about this chapter (probably because I was up all night finishing an article for an editor I don't really like who has a terrible habit of giving an assignment with no real parameters and then being unsatisfied with anything I write - one of those "I don't know what I want but it's not that" types and I still haven't gotten any feedback from him) SO please drop me a line and let me know what you think of this chapter.

much love and hugs

DG


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

"What would an ocean be without a monster lurking in the dark? It would be like sleep without dreams."

― **Werner Herzog**

Dr. Temperance Brennan was no intellectual slouch, she was a thinker, organized in her approach to life. She analyzed and sorted information, carefully made decisions, catching details and possibilities most people missed. As a result, her life steadily progressed forward, upward, despite the many obstacles and trials in her way. Which was precisely why she was lying awake in the middle of the night while Booth slept soundly beside her, calculating the days since her last menses, approximating time of ovulation, and cautiously computing the odds that their sexual excursions would result in pregnancy.

Looking over at the digital clock on her bedside table, she notated the time, closed her eyes, and let out a quiet, controlled sigh through pursed lips. Turning her head, she rolled her whole body, coming to rest on her side. Booth was lying there beside her. He was beautiful. It wasn't the first time she'd seen him sleep. He often napped in her office when they were in the middle of a case. Working long tedious hours took their toll, napping made sense, a good use of time while they waited for results. As well as several times when undercover work forced them into tight quarters. But he never looked like this before, not to her, never so perfectly beautiful. She attributed it, rightly, to the change between them.

Reaching out, she let her fingers trace his browline. He mumbled her name, gathering her into his arms and settling her body next to his. Technically, it was still the same day as the first time they made love. It was late at night, that was early in the morning, still, she counted it as the second time they lay sleeping in one another's arms, well, not sleeping, not for her, not yet, but that wasn't the point, the point was how natural it felt to be with him like this, so comfortable. It was the sound of her name on his lips, his arms around her body as if they'd been doing this for months or years, not less than twenty-four hours, less than one day.

One day.

One day that led her to consider seven days. She needed to be on oral contraceptives for seven days before they were reliably effective. The clear recommendation was to overlap with an alternative form of birth control for at least a week. Some brands touted that it was safe after two. Two days. While others encouraged an overlap in protection for up to a month, to be safe. She believed in being safe.

After the Florida case, or rather, before they left to investigate the Florida case, to be more specific, she saw the markers, knew this was coming, this relationship change with Booth. It was clear, and when they returned to D.C. she made an appointment with her gynecologist. It took several weeks to get in, which was okay because Booth made it very clear that their relationship would not be progressing until after Broadsky was caught. After. Of course, they didn't know when that would be when they had the conversation, but it turned out to be weeks, several weeks. Enough time for her to have the appointment, get the prescription, deliver it to her pharmacy, and have it filled. She picked it up four days ago.

Four days.

Reliable coverage from birth control relied on reliable usage of the pill itself. Inconsistency in taking the pill clearly caused inconsistencies in effectiveness. Four days is hardly enough time to establish a pattern of reliable usage or to meet the recommended minimum of seven days use of the pill before having unprotected sex. The problem, as she saw it, was that she didn't start taking them four days ago when she picked them up from the pharmacy. She took her first pill the night before she met Booth and Sweets at the diner for breakfast. Mr. Nigel-Murray joined them with news of the arrival of their dinosaur bones. That was the day he died, yesterday. She wasn't home to take the second pill that night, she was at Booth's, where despite their plans to wait until Broadsky was in custody, they made love.

Made love.

It was careless of her to let them make love knowing that she was not yet completely covered by her chosen form of birth control. Careless. Memories of their first coupling flooded her body, mental, physical, and though she did not believe in a higher power of any sort, she, herself would be tempted to add spiritual to that list. Her eyes fell closed and the familiar burn of tears welling behind her eyelids defied her. Exhausted, she was so exhausted that night, overcome by circumstances of that day, distraught.

She didn't think, she couldn't think, just act, not with the intent to make love to Booth, no, she needed help. She got off that couch and she went into his bedroom for help. She let him comfort her because she needed his comfort, more than anything in the world she needed Booth's comfort, and once she was there, she couldn't imagine going back out to that couch, alone, couldn't bear it. She asked to stay with him, and her need, her need was so overwhelming, and not just her's, his too, their mutual need overpowered all reason. Her mind was in neutral, maybe not even in neutral, completely turned off, disengaged, to stick with Booth's manual transmission car metaphor, and her heart, her heart was definitely in overdrive.

"Shhhh." Booth's arms held her in a little tighter. "Stop thinking. Sleep."

He was right. She needed sleep. What was done was done. And if her calculations were correct, by somewhat narrow margins, she shouldn't be ovulating, and if she wasn't ovulating, she wouldn't get pregnant. Booth's lips pressed against her forehead, his fingers drew light patterns on her shoulder and she found herself taking long, deep, even breaths. Two pills, she consoled herself, she took two pills as directed, to make up for the day she lost, and she wouldn't miss any more. Her restless spirit was waking Booth, she felt him stir, and when he spoke again, he wasn't nearly as groggy.

"It's okay, Bones, whatever it is, it's okay, you're safe with me, I'll protect you." This man was the embodiment of safety to her, his voice calm and sure. She found herself relaxing a little more with each breath.

Her last conscious thought was quiet and resolved, she'd talk to Booth about it, but not now. They'd purchase condoms of his choosing in the morning and use them for a week to be sure they were safe, maybe the whole month, there was less risk in that. Concerns momentarily assuaged, she found herself drifting off among his quiet reassurances and consolations.

She slept hard, no tossing or turning. So deep she dreamt, Booth's hands were on her, his thick palms lightly running along her naked body, their slight roughness stimulating against her tender skin. The warmth of his breath heavy on the back of her neck, and his lips, his lips open, the tickle of his tongue there too. Senses overloaded, she felt like she could barely breathe as he ran his hands over the most sensitive parts of her body. It wasn't until he flipped her onto her back and settled between her legs pushing into her in one swift swing of his hips that she realized it wasn't a dream.

Sunlight streaming through the blinds cast long, ribbons of shadow across his body. Faster and harder, she could feel her body coil, tighten, and she longed for the release she felt building. Release. Orgasm. First her, then he'd follow. In the heavy mist of that beautiful haze, all her panicked thoughts from the middle of the night came flooding back.

"Booth." Breathy, desperate, the sound of his name didn't slow him down, if anything it encouraged him. He didn't understand and she couldn't think clear enough to articulate her concern. "Booth." She tried again. "I...I'm...I...oh god, I'm close." That was all she could manage, but he caught it, the slight hint of something in her voice, enough to garner his attention. She could feel him pull back a little, watching her, as he continued his sweet assault, such an attentive lover, so in tune with her. "I...I...can't," she added.

"You can." Kissing lightly across her forehead at the edge of her hairline, he slowed his pace, thinking maybe he was hurting her and whispered reassurances. "You can...you can...just let go."

"We...we can't." He was already descending, laying kisses down her neck, so lost in the feel of her that it didn't register at first, it took a minute for it to sink in.

"We?"

"Birth control." Fighting his way through his own blissful mental fog, he tried to connect what she was saying.

"Birth control?"

She only nodded at first, her senses still wildly out of her control. "Yes." It should've been a mood killer, but he was in too deep, they both were and they wrestled, back and forth, slowing then picking up the pace.

"We haven't talked about it." This time she shook her head, agreeing, no, they hadn't; until he started to pull away from her, backing out.

"Don't." Still catching her breath, she held him close. "Don't go." Those stormy eyes darted across his features, a look in them he couldn't quite define, but left her looking so vulnerable.

"I'm not, I'm here, Bones, I'm right here with you. I'm not going anywhere."

"I started the pill."

"Okay? So, we're covered?" He was a little confused as to why they were having the conversation if there wasn't some kind of problem. Taking in a deep, sharp breath she exhaled it in one hard huff.

"Just a few days ago."

"A few days?" She was finally getting her senses back under control and her ability to communicate was returning.

"Two days...or three...depending on how you count. If you start with the first day I took it w-"

"Bones."

"I mean, we should be fine, I've done the calculations." He smiled warmly his body moving within her as he adjusted his weight. God, she found already herself craving this feeling, being with him, connected like this, the feel of him moving inside her, no control over the soft sounds of pleasure and approbation his touch drew from her.

"Calculations." His eyebrows waggled and he deliberately rocked into her, slow at first with a snap of push before pulling back again, several times over, savoring her expression as he felt her body react to him.

"Calculations, yes." He could already see the change in her eyes as conscious thought gave way to sensuality. Too tempting a state to not direct all his efforts into achieving.

"God, I love you." Shaking her head, she patted his shoulders and chest in resistance, trying to get him to stop for just a minute.

"Overlap, we...we have to...overlap for a few days." Pausing briefly, she took a breath before adding an observation. "You have an odd fascination with my mathematical abilities."

"It's sexy." She groaned, he, he was sexy, his determined pursuit of rendering her speechless irresistible.

"Sexy?" His divine kisses rounded the swell of her breast, anticipation drawing her further in as she ran his fingers through his hair, her hands guiding him.

"Hot. Very hot, but then I find just about everything you do hot." They were lost, abandoning the conversation for a more physical form of communication until Booth picked it back up. "So, condoms then?"

"Don't have any."

"Do you wanna stop?" Which he did, stop, momentarily, entirely.

"God, no. But..." Groaning, she registered her disapproval, encouraging him with the swing of her hips and wandering hands. It wasn't an option, stopping, not really.

"I'll pull out." He offered. "I...I'll pull out before, you know…"

"No, I don't know. Before?"

"You know, before I…" He looked so uncomfortable and she couldn't help but relish in making him say it, her playful eyebrows taunting him. "I'll pull out before I...before I come, okay? Happy now? I said it."

She smiled, satisfied, smug, and let out a low chuckle, then took advantage of his momentary vulnerability and flipped them. Coming to rest atop him, towering above. God, she was beautiful. She hummed, basking in the feel of his hands rubbing along the curve of her hips before backing away, working her way down his chest in focused pursuit of greater conquests.

"Promise." She whispered against his skin as his eyes rolled shut and a pleasured moan escaped him.

And he did promise, he was a man, an experienced man, who knew himself well enough to judge how close he was. He could do this for her, for them, until she did this thing with her hips and the movement was, god, it was incredible. It caught him off guard and he reacted, without thinking, hard and fast, too fast to control it. Her hands clenched the sheets on either side of her, fisting them, as waves of ecstasy rolled through her body, and they both tumbled over the edge, their bodies thrumming together. It happened too fast for either of them to do anything but feel it.

He apologized, forehead to her shoulder, still pulsing within her.

She tried, unsuccessfully, to convince him it was okay.

He was skeptical. After all, why would she bring it up in the middle of making love if it wasn't a real risk, one she clearly gave a lot of thought to.

She countered, laying out each careful calculation she worked out just hours earlier as she lay there watching him sleep. Dates and times, a mini-biology lesson complete with details on her cycle, in much greater detail than he really wanted to hear, including her ovulation patterns dating back to a time when she considered using his sperm to have a baby and carefully charted it. It was old information, but surely relevant, especially considering it was the only time in her life where she actually kept a record of her own ovulation.

It worked. He finally accepted her argument that they were safe, that her ranting in the middle of lovemaking was, well, her, a manifestation of her own overly cautious approach to life. Plan, plan well, and live according to plan, that was his Bones. The more she talked the more he realized how unsettled she was by the last forty-eight hours, no part of which went according to any kind of plan. If she said there was nothing to worry about, well, then there was nothing to worry about. Math, her math, backed up her arguments and she was a genius. So, he dropped it, completely, didn't think about it again.

It wasn't that easy for her.

Those same arguments she used to convince Booth didn't work on her, not completely. Her worries sprung back to life, demanding attention, focused entirely on the slim margin of possibility, that infinitesimal percent. Reminding herself that regardless of all the math in the world, she didn't actually know when she ovulated and therefore could not be one hundred percent sure that she wasn't pregnant until enough time passed for a test to be taken or her period to start. Time, nothing but time would answer this question.

"You're doing it again." Whispering against her forehead, he let his fingers trace rhythmic circles lightly along her bare shoulder. He could feel her think and the more she thought the more she wiggled and squirmed, small movements, tiny like she was working hard to control them. Her desire to lay there and just be with him wrestled with her anxious need to get up and get moving, to do something, anything.

Sucking in a sharp breath, she let it out slow and measured, then confessed. "I know."

"It's okay, Bones, I get it." Letting out a pitiful groan, Booth sat up, bringing her with him. "But someday, not today, okay, but someday, you and I are going to work on this, okay? _I'm_ going to teach _you_ how to relax." There was skepticism in her eyes, but she agreed before voicing a possible plan.

"Maybe we can go get some breakfast." Standing up, she tugged on his hand in an attempt to get him to come with her. "I don't really have anything here."

"Yeah, that sounds good, I could go for that." He added, smiling as he resisted, reeling her back into his arms where he sat on the edge of her bed, his hands slipping down the back of her legs. "Maybe swing by the pharmacy." She chuckled, sweet and low, as he looked up at her waggling his eyebrows suggestively.

"And...the grocery store." She added enthusiastically, backing out of his reach. "We should probably go to the grocery store." She was walking away now, looking back over her shoulder at his admiring look. "We should go by the lab too."

Ignoring her suggestions he followed her towards the bathroom. "Pharmacy," he countered. She ignored him.

"We can get the case files." He came up behind her as she stopped in front of the shower. Pressing his body against the back of hers, he leaned in and whispered as his hands latched onto her hips.

"Pharmacy." His lips moved against the sensitive skin behind her ear as he pressed their bodies together, then released so he could run his hands along the long length of her curves.

"For paperwork...to do the paperwork...for the case."

"Pharmacy." Reaching past her, he turned the water on, crowding her in the most alluring way. "For protection, you know, so we can come back here and I can protect you all weekend long."

"Yes. Pharmacy." She answered, stepping under the hot water and pulling him in with her.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: I don't know if I'm more excited about this chapter or the fact that I got it done in time to post on schedule this week!

Let me tell you about the great birth control debate that waged in my head. Obviously, there was a lapse in coverage in canon resulting in the beautiful Bones-Booth baby. In this story, it seemed impossible to just ignore that. I mean, that first time, it probably just happened, unplanned, in extreme circumstances, they weren't really thinking about contraceptives. But at some point, as two people in a sexual relationship, they would have to address it. For some reason, it seemed only fitting for Brennan to address it right in the middle of having sex. If nothing else because the thought of it amused me. Maybe I have a bit of a puckish side.

Thank you to my dear friend snowybones who is always there for me as a sounding board and guinea pig, reading and rereading, and tempering all my writer worries.

And a special thanks to MoreBonesPlz for her help with this chapter and the whole birth control/pregnancy worries coming Brennan's way for the next little bit of this story. She was a great help and sounding board as well as source of information.

AND you. Thank you for all your continued support in reading, favoriting, following, and reviewing. Every little one of those things matters to me, especially as the Bones fandom shrinks, it makes a big difference knowing that there are still people reading and enjoying my stores. It keeps me writing.

Love and hugs!

DG


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

"There are fossils of seashells high in the Himalayas; what was and what is are different things."

― **Rebecca Solnit** , **A Field Guide to Getting Lost**

Booth walked out from the bedroom slipping his belt through his shoulder holster fasteners, buckling it, and straightening his tie. She was there, ready for work, belongings organized by the front door, filling their travel mugs at the kitchen counter.

"Bones, what are you doing?" Staring at him blankly, she stopped. It was obvious what she was doing and she didn't understand why he asked. "You read Cam's email, right?" Still, nothing seemed to register, "about the lab being closed today and tomorrow."

"I check my email at work." A look of deep sympathy washed over his expression and while she appreciated it, she didn't like it. Choosing to close her eyes to avoid his gaze, she set the travel mug she was holding down on the counter, felt her pockets for her phone, then directed all of her attention to searching for the email.

He took a few steps closer, talking, but it all sounded like gibberish, his words lost on her. Letting out a long held breath, she sighed, looked up at him briefly, then back down at her phone. There it was. Clear as day, with _911 LAB CLOSURE information_ tagged in the subject line, informing everyone that all access to the lab would be restricted to essential security personnel only for a day or two while they dealt with the shattered skylight. Her mind went immediately to the way the temporary plastic sounded as it flapped in the wind, a constant reminder that it was there to cover the gaping hole in the skylight.

Gaping hole.

That's what her intern's death felt like to her, a gaping hole threatening to swallow her up, leaving her to face a terrible dilemma. The lab was a comfort to her, a safe place, a sanctuary of sorts. She needed it, but at the same time, this time, it was at the center of her trauma. All morning was spent readying herself, mentally, emotionally, to face the lab, specifically the forensic platform, which she needed to walk past to get to her inner sanctum. She avoided it Friday, averted her eyes and walked briskly straight to the bone room. But, she was motivated, Booth needed her help to find Broadsky before he disappeared again.

Today was going be different, she knew it, there was no case to distract her, that platform would be front and center when she walked through those sliding doors, waiting for her. She would have to face it to get to her office, to the bone room, to limbo, to the sense of normalcy the lab gave her. She needed it, her structure, her routine, _her_ lab and everything it offered her, to find perspective and process everything that happened, that was happening.

"Cam never emails on weekends." She added, looking up from her phone, staring into Booth's warm, brown eyes, "unless there's an active case."

"I know." His voice was soft and tender.

"You caught Broadsky."

Swallowing hard, he took a step closer, nodding in agreement as he watched her process yet another change. It was too much, he could see it, and he wanted to help but knew he needed to give her a time to process the information on her own. Don't push her, he reminded himself, kicking himself for not bringing up the email earlier in the weekend when he first read it. "Yeah, I did, we did...together...all of us."

"This isn't an active case. We don't have an active case."

Shifting her weight, she moved nervously. Where was her brain? It never failed her before, not like this. It felt like ever since that shot rang out and she heard the crackle of the glass breaking apart overhead and the whizzing sound the bullet made as it cut through the air, her mind was scattered, it was everywhere, all over the place, and nowhere at all. Certainly not where she needed it to be when she needed it most.

Her judgments askew, she let herself get lost in the weekend, in Booth, in this man and his silliness and his touch and his compassion, and whenever she felt that moment, Vincent Nigel-Murray's death, pulling her back in, he was there to pull her out. That was good, she thought, but not thinking about birth control and not checking email, ignoring the world like it didn't exist, that was bad, had to be.

"Bones." It was the third or fourth time he said her name before she acknowledged him at all. Each time he took a step closer until he was standing right in front of her, letting his fingers sweep her bangs behind her ear. "Hey, hey, you know, why don't you come with me to the Hoover today, okay? We can do that paperwork we didn't get around to this weekend."

This man.

His tone was light and playful, his eyes sparkled when he talked about their weekend and his pelvis thrust forward just a tiny bit, in two maybe three swift movements. She shook her head and let out a slight chuckle, barely audible.

"You, you're trying to distract me." She saw the truth of her accusation flash in his eyes when she said it. The strong, independent woman inside didn't like that, this was Booth trying to protect her. Groaning, she set her jaw and squared her shoulders. "I don't need you to, to babysit me, Booth. I can take care of myself. I'll just stay here, I'll...I'll work on my next book or grade some papers or something. I'm fine. I'll be fine on my own."

But she wasn't fine, he knew it, hell, she knew it, and he didn't feel comfortable leaving her alone with everything that happened still so fresh and painful. Taking in a sharp breath he breathed it out in one long huff.

"Maybe it's me. Maybe it's me that needs you, did you ever think about that?" Confused, her eyes darted across his expression for some hint of what he was talking about. His playful expression gone, faded away, she saw the seriousness of his statement reflected in his eyes. "Jake was my friend, Bones, more than a friend, you know, in that situation, in the situations we were in together, we were more like brothers...or...or maybe like partners, but closer, you know, in a unit you're together all the time, like a family." In all of that, the only part she could relate to was partner. Partners, she understood that frame of reference, he saw it in her eyes, so he continued. "In the Army, in the Rangers, our lives depended on trust, on that brotherhood, you know, that bond, like me and you as partners. I mean...we...we relied on that, we had to...to do our job, to survive." Booth stopped and took another long deep breath, this one slow and even.

"I thought I knew him, you know, I thought...I thought I knew what kind of man he was, and well, I never thought he'd do the things he did, never, not in a million years...I mean, the man I knew, the one I served with wouldn't just kill people like that." Booth shook his head like he was trying to shake it all off.

They talked about this before, but not like this. He told her things about Broadsky, about their time in the military, about how this felt for him, and she knew he took the man's choice to kill personally. It was an affront to everything he stood for. Honor was important to Booth and this man's actions were in strict opposition to the oath they took as soldiers. She understood, in fact, she used that in her argument with Sweets when he told Booth that he couldn't take the situation with Broadsky personally just days ago. Days. It felt longer than days and at the same time like it just happened, sometimes like they were still kneeling over her young intern's body.

"He threatened me, Bones, he broke into my house and held a gun on me, said he was going to kill me and leave my son fatherless like it was nothing like I was nothing. Collateral damage, that's all my life was to him. And he tried, God, he tried." That's where he stopped, leaving a heavy gap in their conversation. She could hear him breathe and she watched his jaw tick as he gathered his thoughts. "He didn't do anything wrong, Bones, that squint of yours, he was just a kid. Just a nerdy kid who answered the goddamned phone for me, that's all. He wasn't a serial killer or some dumbass counterfeiter, or a crooked cop, he was just a kid with his whole life ahead of him."

She felt her heart clench in her chest as he spoke and the depth and weight of Broadsky's betrayal became clear to her. Eyes burning, breath heavy, she raised her hand to cup his cheek and pull him closer. He blamed himself. He said he didn't. He said he blamed Broadsky, the guy who pulled the trigger, as he put it, but that wasn't true, not completely. She should've seen it, she should've known, this was Booth, of course, he blamed himself.

"It wasn't your fault," she whispered, but he wouldn't look at her, his eyes darted away.

"I wanna be done with it, Bones, I wanna finish the paperwork and wash my hands of the whole goddamn thing."

Partners share, he always told her that and here he was sharing his burden with her. She felt honored and protective and scared because she wasn't at all sure she could help him, that she could give him what he needed.

Nodding, she swallowed hard and spoke. "Yes, yes, of course, I'll come with you. We'll do the paperwork today."

"Good." Leaning in, letting his forehead rest on hers, he spoke softly. "Good."

His fingertips twitched against her hips and he pulled her closer, letting his lips fall on hers. It wasn't a particularly sexual kiss, not an advance or proposition for more. It was simple, meaningful, warm and soft and vulnerable, a kind of intimacy she wasn't sure she'd ever experienced. Pulling apart, she could see he felt it too. The corner of his mouth turned up in a half-smile and he gave her a nod, she gave him one back.

Grabbing both their travel mugs, he headed for the door.

They were in this together, she felt the connection, partners, more than partners though, which sparked a silent smile and a spark in her brilliant blue-green eyes.

A few months ago partners felt extremely restrictive, now, the term seemed versatile. Applicable to both their professional work together and their romantic relationship, it was a word she found both comforting and terrifying at the same time, hurling her into a state of contemplative thought.

Everything felt familiar and yet startlingly different.

Something so simple as sitting next to him in the passenger seat as they drove to the Hoover felt new and yet it was something she'd done too many times to accurately count.

But, counting was easier than reconciling what was normal and yet felt foreign at the same time. Counting was a diversion, an aside, an indulgence which she allowed herself under the circumstances.

And so her mind played. On average they worked together several days a week, three or four, and in that time they rode together four to six times a day, in trips, to and fro, always an even number, there and back. That, times the number of weeks in a year and years they worked together. Taking into account that there were times they were together more than six trips a day Early in a case they may ride together all day interviewing witnesses, searching homes, offices, storage units, etc., sometimes ten to twelve or more trips, place to place to place.

Of course, other times when it was less, when vacations and digs separated them, the months they spent apart when he was in Afghanistan and she was in Maluku, and then there was Hannah. Her thoughts paused, then moved quickly on. There were inconsistencies over the years, more, less, thus the need for averages. And so her mind went, calculating their trips together into the thousands, over seven thousand, 7,488 times, like this, side by side, headed toward eight thousand, until she felt his hand brush against hers, tenderly wrapping around her own, holding onto her.

Biting her lip she looked first to their hands, then to him, his attention divided between her and the road, also familiar. Holding her hand, that happened significantly less times, in fact, she was sure she could count that with complete accuracy on one hand. And when he gathered her hand up in his, lifting it to his lips, and kissed it, and well, that only happened one other time in all the years that spanned their partnership. Friday, on the way home from the Jeffersonian after saying goodbye to Mr. Nigel-Murray's remains. Two, two times.

Bringing her right back to the beginning of her thought, life, their life together, similar but different.

And so her day went their drive to the Hoover, the way he ushered her into the elevator, the familiar pressure of his hand on the small of her back as he guided her through the bullpen to his office, his quick movements and mumbled comments as he made room for her to work.

"It's different, I know, but different isn't always bad, right? Sometimes, different is...better." That's what he said to her when her silence crowded them on the way into work. Different is better, she reminded herself as she struggled to keep her attention on completing the paperwork for Broadsky's case. This, between them, was better, uninhibited, freeing, like the last barriers standing between them fell away when she crawled into bed with him.

Looking up, she stared at him for a moment, long enough for him to feel it and look up from the stack of papers in front of him just as she looked away. She caught herself, remembering she didn't have to do that anymore, hide the fact that she was looking at him. Old habits die hard. Glancing back she smiled, the message in her eyes easy to read, their communication clear as their smiles broadened.

This _was_ better.

This was them, the easy part, a reminder that these looks and the feelings that went with them were there from so early on in their partnership that neither one of them could remember exactly when they started. It was reassuring, evidence to her that this wasn't as new or different as her mind kept trying to make it out to be, not really, it was more an extension of what they always were. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she looked back down at the lab reports on her lap and began thumbing through them. Booth didn't look away, not for what seemed like a long time to her and she loved that, found it comforting for reasons she couldn't explain.

Not more than a minute passed before there was a quiet tap on the metal door frame, garnering both their attention.

"Hey, guys." Sweets turned his attention to Dr. Brennan. "I heard you were in the building today. So, it's true then, the lab's closed." He knew it was, he got the same email from Cam everyone else did and while Brennan may have missed that detail in her harried state, Booth didn't.

Tensing immediately, Booth cleared his throat, drawing the psychologist's attention momentarily back to him. He didn't like it when Sweets did that, played dumb like that, especially when he was using the technique on them. He was about to intervene when she spoke.

"It's okay, Booth." Her hand moved just enough for him to catch the gesture. She was telling him to let her handle it. "Only for repairs. Only for a day or two." Eyes steady, she was insistent and firm.

"That must be hard for you, not being able to access the lab like that, I know how importa-"

"Sweets." Booth leaned back in his office chair, an act that could only be described as deceivingly casual, in opposition to the way he spoke his name which was curt, his tone a warning, plain and simple.

"Sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I just know how hard this whole situation must be on you, on both of you. That's why I'm here. I just wanted to see how you're doing, how both of you are doing."

"We're fine, Sweets." The partners answered simultaneously, speaking over each other.

"Well. We're doing well, Sweets." Looking at the psychologist, her eyes darted to Booth, then back again.

She liked Sweets, she did, but there were times she felt overly cautious when speaking to him, knowing that everything she said would be analyzed and processed as what she was sure he'd deem some kind of psychological evidence to be held, stored, and arbitrarily applied to meet his preconceived ideas. His futile attempts to paint his soft science as a hard one, which irked her to no end.

"Good. Good. You know, we haven't really had any time to talk since Vincent was killed and I just wanted you to know that if you need anything, I mean, I'm a trained grief counselor, you know, and a friend, your friend, first and foremost, a friend to both of you, and I'm here, you know, I'm here for you. I can help. I just wanna help."

"That's great, thank you, Sweets." Booth answered as he stood, already making his way around his desk to usher the man toward the threshold of his office. One hand on his shoulder, a couple of firm pats as he turned him around and moved him out of his office.

"In fact, I have some time right now, you know, we could talk here...or we could go up to my office…" Turned around now, Sweets was speaking over his shoulder as Booth walked him out into the bullpen toward the elevators. "Or you know, you could schedule an appointment, though, you know, it doesn't have to be anything formal."

"Sweets, we're fine, okay? We're dealing with it just fine." Booth stood close, leaned in, all acts Sweets knew were purposefully intimidating.

"But, Dr. Brennan, you know she won't deal with this, she'll...she'll push it away and call it compartmentalizing and...and...and...she nee-"

"Bones, is fine, okay, she's dealing with it in her own way, all right? What she needs is for you to stay out of it, give her some time, space and time, that's what she needs, all right?"

"No. No. Not all right? You know why, Agent Booth, because I care, okay, because...because…." Sweets stopped abruptly as he carefully studied the man standing in front of him. "Oh boy, something's changed between you hasn't it?" Sweets was nodding now, nodding incessantly, his eyes wide, darting back and forth between Booth and his office where he could see Dr. Brennan pretending to look at the paperwork, her attention split between that and the two men standing in front of the elevator.

Booth was already denying it, scoffing at the young man, shaking his head, speaking in hushed tones as he looked around the room.

"Shhh, keep your voice down and no, okay? You got it all wrong. Nothing's changed between me and Bones, not like that, not like you're insinuating." Sweets watched Booth's jaw tighten, his eyes take on a hard, fierce look.

"You're being awfully protective of her."

"She's my partner, Sweets, my partner...and she's been through something horrible, of course I'm protective."

"And pretty confident she's dealing with it, Agent Booth, like you have some firsthand knowledge or something."

"I do, okay, but not like you think." Sweets shot him a look that begged explanation and made it clear his curiosity needed to be satisfied. Letting out a long, frustrated sigh, he tried to explain. "We're friends, well, partners and friends, and when Hannah left, you know, Bones was really there for me _as a friend_ , a good friend."

"So, you go there now? Again, you go there again, as friends, because a couple months ago you said you didn't."

"As friends, yes, _just_ friends. I'm returning the favor, that's all, as a friend, you know, we were both there, when it happened, when he died, you don't know what's that like, Sweets. All the grief training in the world doesn't prepare you for something like that, it doesn't...they can't teach you what that's like." Booth looked away, back over to his partner, letting out another sigh, then back at the man standing in front of him. He wanted this time with her, just the two of them, no interference, no meddling from friends, even friends with good intentions, he couldn't have Sweets in the middle of this thing they were building together. "Friends, that's all, got it?" Sweets nodded, dawning that goofy, satisfied grin he got whenever he thought they were making progress towards becoming a couple.

"Friends." The younger man nodded softly as he spoke, "got it." Stepping away, he pressed the elevator button, rocking back and forth as he waited. "Seriously, if you need anything."

"You'll be the first to know."

The doors opened and Sweets stepped in. Reaching around the open elevator door, Booth pressed the close door button, then stepped back.

That was it.

She watched him carefully as he walked back to his office, trying to read him, relieved when he stepped back into his office, grabbed the file from her lap, and spoke softly.

"Let's go home."

Home.

She looked relieved and lost all at the same time. Her home? His? Answering her unspoken concern, he caught her gaze and held it.

"Home is wherever you are, Bones, it doesn't matter to me whether it's my place or yours."

"Yours. It's closer."

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: Thank you so much for your patience. This winter has been a rough one physically, my autoimmune disease has been going nuts. One step forward, two steps back, very frustrating, but very much life, right?

Also, thank you for the wonderful response to the last chapter. It was a fun one to write. And thank you for all your support in reviews and follows and favorites. It's always such a pleasant surprise when the alerts pop up in my email, they brighten my days!

I owe a special thanks to morebonesplz and snowybones for help with this chapter. It's hard coming off such a fun, sexy chapter that's so well received and moving onto a building chapter that's setting the stage for the next phase of the story. They really can't compete with one another, though, it was hard to keep that in mind while writing. I was more than halfway done and ready to scrap the whole thing for much easier approach. Great advice and encouragement kept me working on this one instead.

So, what do you think? Did you like the chapter? Hate it? Please take a minute to let me know what worked for you and what didn't.

Much love

~DG


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

"I really believe that there is an invisible red thread tied between him and me, and that it has stretched and tangled for years — across oceans and lifetimes. I know that it won't break because our souls are tied."

― **Jennifer Elisabeth** , **Born Ready: Unleash Your Inner Dream Girl**

She was tired and it was late, but she wasn't ready to leave the lab yet. Letting out a heavy sigh, she looked up from her computer through the bank of windows that walled off her office from the rest of the lab. Her blinds were open, which she counted as progress. She'd kept them closed most of the week, unable to bear the sight of the forensics platform without being flooded by memories still too painful to deal with. The whizzing sound of the bullet, the desperate pleas of her young intern dying, and blood, so much blood.

Closing her eyes she forced a long measured breath, counting to keep it even. One breath, then two, three, four.

Bound and determined to change what had become her reality, she forced her eyes open and stared straight out at the platform, her focus unwavering, she didn't even blink until the buzz of her cell phone alerted her to a text.

 _ **Courts running late. Caroline thinks another hour or so. Do you still want me to pick you up or do you just want to meet me at your place?**_

Booth was at Broadsky's arraignment. He'd insisted on going, which she didn't entirely understand. "I'm gonna see it through to the end, Bones. I need to."

Sitting up, she adjusted herself in her office chair and leaned forward, switching the papers in front of her so she could grade the next in a tall stack of student work.

He'd asked if she wanted to come to the arraignment, offered to pick her up on his way to the courthouse, and she'd thought about it long and hard before deciding against it. Not for the arraignment. Maybe the trial, if it went that far, if he didn't plead out. Shaking her head slightly, she forced herself to focus. She had other things that needed her attention after choosing to spend the week largely in Bone Storage.

Staring at the message, she took another counted breath.

Numb. That's the way she'd felt most of this week, a byproduct of her own choice. Numb seemed like a better option than overwrought, which is how she tended to end up whenever she let go and allowed herself to feel the weight of the situation. She couldn't help but think back to an observation her favorite night watchman had made standing right there in front of the very object of her torture. Feelings are good, better than being dead he told her, or worse, dead inside. She had embraced that then, let herself feel the sadness, the loss, and it had worked out, but this, this was different. There was no way this situation would work out. Mr. Nigel-Murray was gone. There was no way to fix that.

Another forced breath.

She didn't believe in ghosts, not even a little bit, but this place she loved, the lab, her home as Booth often called it, felt haunted to her. Everywhere she looked harbored some memory of her lively young intern, and the forensics platform itself stood in the middle as a painful monument to his death.

Looking away, she considered her options. She could leave. Nothing was keeping her at work except her own stubborn desire to conquer this demon that had invaded her life. She could go home, relax, prepare dinner for the two of them. With dinner out of the way, they could go to bed early.

Neither of them had been sleeping well and not just because of the sex. The thought of their intimate relations gave her pause, a much needed break from the heaviness of being in the lab. She smiled. The sex was...quite good. Better than she'd imagined it would be, and she'd always imagined it would be...very very good. A satisfied nod to no one and her focus slipped right back to the great expanse of the lab, empty, lights dimmed because it was after hours. She was the only one there besides the security staff, and they were scarce. They would make rounds to check on it, but with the lab closed down for the night, no one would be stationed to guard it.

She used to cherish nights like this one. Used to. Typing quickly, she hit send before she changed her mind.

 **I'll wait. Pick me up when you're done.**

The phone vibrated in Booth's hands, drawing his attention to her message.

She worried him.

Not that that was new. He'd been worrying about her from pretty much the very beginning of their partnership. You'd think it would get better over time, especially now that things were different between them, _they_ were different, and while he thought he'd worry less now that they were romantically involved, like he'd have more control or something, nothing could have been farther from the truth.

It was worse.

The English squintern's death made it worse, at least he thought so. It added all this emotion to what was already a big change in her life. She wasn't really good with emotions or change to begin with, and here she was all tangled up in a big knot of both. Big emotions. Big change. And Bones, she was just so damned independant. He knew what was happening, he knew she was going to force herself to face the monsters that lingered in the lab, and he knew she was going to insist on doing it alone despite his attempts to get her to let him help her through it.

She didn't have to do that anymore, she had him, but that was Bones, right? Stubborn, bullheaded really. Independent. Strong. Maybe too much of all of those things for her own good. Maybe he should leave? She was more important than Broadsky. His jaw ticked wildly, his whole body taut.

Leaning forward with his elbows on his knee, Booth sat in the courtroom, phone in hand. It was set to vibrate. Looking up momentarily at the sound of commotion, he watched as one case finished and another was getting ready to start. There was a ritualistic changing of the guard that took place between cases. Once, when they were first working together, he told Bones that. She got all mad because she was waiting so see some ceremonial thing and the bailiff didn't change the whole time they were there. Booth chuckled quietly under his breath at the memory. So damn smart and still so innocent and naive in certain ways. God he loved her.

People shuffled out, muttered protests of injustice or joy and relief, mostly injustice. Sometimes loud, sometimes quieter, usually depending on how many times the offender had been through the system. First timers were a more timid, unless they were posturing. Repeat offenders loud and obnoxious. Loved ones, if they were there, fawning over some inmate as if he could do no wrong. It was always the same, just different faces.

The next set of players filed in. Booth looked down at his watch. It seemed like it had been hours, like he'd sat there damn near all day. It hadn't. Time was weird like that, sometimes it raced by so fast and others it barely crawled.

 _ **K**_. He sent back.

One more case and it would be Broadsky who walked through those doors in bright orange, shackled. Booth took a long shuddered breath. No other case had ever affected him like this, but then he'd never been so close to someone who'd done something like this either. The whole thing still seemed unbelievable, like they were two separate men. One he knew, understood, at least he thought he had at one time. Now he questioned that, wondering how he missed a change so big in a man he used to call brother. Used to. Not anymore. This man, the man he was waiting for, was a stranger to him.

Booth adjusted himself, settling back against the cold hard bench, looking up at the fluorescent lights in the ceiling and taking in a long, sharp breath. He held it, sending another message to Bones.

 _ **I'll pick you up when I'm done.**_

Letting out a heavy sigh he looked up from his phone. He should've done more than asked her to come, he should have just flat out told her he needed her there with him. She would've if he'd asked. Which was exactly why he didn't. She had enough on her plate.

Things were settling back down in the courtroom and they were about to start the next arraignment.

She'd been on his mind all day, more so than usual, like there was a usual for them as a couple. He smiled at the thought before leaning forward again, the bench letting out a loud creak when he moved that echoed in the quiet courtroom. Caroline turned around and shot him an irritated look that screamed sit still. He was all too familiar with that look. He'd seen it a million times growing up in Catholic school. Caroline as a nun, that was a funny thought. He let his mind wander momentarily. She sat in the row in front of him, clutching her attache case with both hands on her lap.

He hated waiting.

Shooting the best charm smile he could muster back at Caroline, he gave her a nod. She just shook her head in response and let out her own exasperated sigh.

He just wanted this to be over. He wanted to pick Bones up, hold her tight in his arms, bury his face in her neck, let her hair fall over him, tickling his cheeks, catching on the scruff of his five o'clock shadow.

He stopped himself.

The days had been long since they'd gone back to work, him at the Hoover all day, her back at the Jeffersonian, no case. Angela had been sending him daily text messages, concerned that Bones was spending too much time alone, removing herself from the main body of the lab, hiding away in Limbo, not taking breaks, not talking, eating only when he came and got her for lunch or she forced a snack on her. Even then she mostly pushed her food around her plate. He didn't tell Angela that. She didn't need that kind of stress, she had her own set of worries so pregnant, so close to delivering. This whole mess had been too much, and she probably knew anyway. Angela was pretty good at watching for those kinds of things.

Besides, he was handling it. He was on Bones all the time to eat, even if it was only a few bites. It didn't really work, well, maybe a little bit, eating under protest while lecturing him on the importance of not forcing people to eat. Giving him crap about how the preconceived ideas of consumption were at the core of America's obesity problem.

He took it, of course, arguing just enough to make her comfortable.

His phone vibrated in his hand and he looked down at her response.

 **Okay. I'm in my office.**

Brennan let out a heavy sigh after sending the message. She was committed now that she'd told Booth exactly where to find her when she was done. It was a subtle way of forcing herself to stay where she was, fighting the urge to leave for home or the safety of Bone Storage.

It was much easier to distance herself from these types of strong emotions before Booth. Sometimes she missed those days, but not often. Emotions, like these she was facing, were hard, but the joy she'd found in her friendships over the years and in this new relationship with Booth was undeniable. She just had a hard time finding her sense of balance.

In fact, the more she thought about it, the more she didn't know how she would be able to deal with the death of her intern without him. He was there for her in every way possible. He gave her space when she needed it and held her tight when the enormity of the situation felt overwhelming. He encouraged her to cry and talk and made sure she ate and slept. She wished she was better at communicating how much that meant to her, she knew she fell short when it came to that and feared, at times, it would be a hindrance to the success of their relationship. Thank you didn't seem like enough, although she said it often.

She resolved to make a better effort.

Tapping her phone on its edge against the desk, she stared off before looking back down at it and adding one more thought to the conversation.

 **Let me know when you're headed this way and I'll make sure I'm ready to go when you get here.**

Booth smiled at her message, leaning back against the hard bench and stretching his legs out momentarily.

Her intern's death was awful. The worst. But there was part of him, the part that believed that all things happen for a reason, that couldn't help but wonder what would be different if the young man hadn't been shot or died. Bones, herself, had mentioned it. It was the reason she'd come to him that night, she'd needed his comfort, needed to be with him. She'd been moved by how fragile and temporary life could be. "I think I did it because of Vincent," she'd confided in him. Worried that somehow that would put them in a bad place with each other.

It was inevitable, he told her. They were meant to be and already moving toward that when the whole Broadsky thing happened. But, he could see where the kid's death affected more than just that night. They'd spent every night together since then, something he wondered if would have happened if things were different. It stirred so much up, the shooting, the loss, it dragged up so many similar situations, so many memories, and not just for her. Staying together hadn't even been a question. He had been there for her when the nightmares came, and she'd done the same for him.

Out of bed. Out of bed, out of the room, that was his motto. He'd lived by it for decades now. He made it a solitary thing, his thing. Not with her. How many times had he been in the same position? He couldn't count. Cam, Rebecca, Tessa, Hannah, and not just them, other women, the relationships that never went anywhere because they couldn't handle it, they stopped answering his calls after.

Most of them stood in the doorway to his bedroom watching him. A silhouette in the dark. Some of them wanted to help, asked about it, some of them just stared, to...he didn't know, shocked, worried, freaked out, to say anything. Not Bones. When she found him sitting on the couch nursing a couple of fingers of scotch, instead of going back to bed when he said he was fine, she came and sat down next to him in the dark and waited him out. Nobody'd ever done that for him before. Just sat with him. He loved that about her. She was there for him in a way no other woman in his life ever had been.

The kid's death was awful, it was wrong, it shouldn't have happened like that, but what it did for them, that was….His thought was cut off.

Booth looked up.

Commotion in the courtroom startled him, pulling him back from his thoughts. He'd missed the entirety of the last arraignment. Looking around he cleared his throat and tried to catch up with what was going on. The bailiff was shuffling papers, getting ready to stand and call the next case. A group of lawyers were making small talk by the jury box, laughing loudly as they traded plans for the weekend and gathered their belongings, getting ready to leave. Others, Caroline included, moved to the two tables in front of the judge.

Booth waited, shifting in his seat, hands clasped in his lap, but no Broadsky.

 _ **He's next.**_

He typed, looking up after sending the text, watching for Broadsky. Still no sign of him. Leaning forward, he was about to ask Caroline what was going on when he noticed the closed circuit television being wheeled into place. She must have read his mind because right about that time she turned around, speaking in hushed tones.

"He's still recovering from surgery on his leg, or so says his attorney. Damn lawyer's trying to play the sympathy card to get him out on bail. It won't work, thank God, Hamlin is a bastard when it comes to bleeding hearts." She laughed and smiled broadly. "Just the way I like 'em."

Caroline was a great lawyer, a pain the ass at times, but a good person, and at that moment he needed her quick wit and sardonic sense of humor. It made him laugh, low and under his breath. His shoulders fell at the momentary release of tension and he mustered up a smile. Caroline understood. She'd seen the toll this whole mess had taken on Booth, watched it with her own eyes. She knew he was worn out, exhausted, and not just the physical kind of tired, the soul kind.

"He's gonna plead not guilty, Cher." Booth looked up and nodded, his eyes wide and somber. "I don't know if you knew that." She wanted him to be prepared for that, knowing it would be easier to handle if it wasn't a surprise.

Broadsky had no idea the evidence they'd compiled against him and wouldn't until discovery, so of course he'd try and get out of it. Such an arrogant sonovabitch, thinks he's better at covering his tracks than he was. That's okay. Once his attorney saw the government's case he'd change his tune. He'd be asking for a plea deal then, begging for one.

Court was called to order. The process started all over again. Different names, different crimes, same basic procedure. Caroline's voice, Judge Hamlin, Broadsky's attorney, all taking turns, all talking, making their arguments, issuing rulings, it was all lost on Booth as he considered the man in front of him.

Staring at the television screen, he watched Broadsky's every move. It was the first time he'd seen him since the day he caught him. He was in a hospital gown, leg propped up, bandaged, handcuffed to the bed. The hand he'd broken on Lisenger's skull was cast now, not just in a wrap like that day at the port. He looked pale, weak, nothing like the strong, powerful man he remembered, nothing like the man he arrested.

Jake's voice sliced through his thoughts. "Not guilty, your honor. I plead not guilty on all counts."

This man who'd taken it upon himself to be judge, jury, and executioner, who had no problem killing anyone who got in his way, who threatened Booth and anyone who sided with him, who'd robbed Bones' young intern of his life, had the nerve to plead not guilty. Booth felt his whole body tense and a deep rage rise up within him. He was about to leave, in fact, he'd already started to stand when he heard the attorney ask that Broadsky be released on his own recognizance, arguing that he was a respected military veteran, a man of honor who had no intention of fleeing the jurisdiction.

At that he sat back down and looked immediately to Caroline. This couldn't happen, this man couldn't be released. Caroline jumped to argue the point. She was sharp, forceful and emphatic as the two attorneys volleyed back and forth. Booth watched intently, his worst nightmare hanging in the balance. This man couldn't go free. God, how would he protect Bones if that happened? How would he protect himself or Parker? His leg bounced rapidly, his eyes darting between courtroom players until the judge finally interrupted.

"Enough." The man's voice was loud and firm, drawing the immediate attention of everyone in the room. "I am well aware of your concerns Ms. Jullian. As for you, Mr. Blackburn, your client can stay right where he is until he's well enough for lock-up, and then physical therapy can come to him. Bail is denied."

Broadsky's attorney tried to argue, but his plea was drowned out by the echoing bang of the gavel putting an end to the matter once and for all.

Booth was done. There was nothing more for him here, he was confident the judge wouldn't change his mind. Standing, he quietly excused his way out of the bench and left the courtroom. He should wait, he thought as he made his way to the elevator, thank Caroline for arguing against bail, hear the discovery schedule, find out the trial date. He was pushing the button to the elevator madly, pacing as he waited. Court still hadn't let out yet, or Caroline would be in the hall already. Pulling out his phone he texted her.

 _ **Good work. Let me know the timeline. I have to go. Another meeting.**_

He didn't hear back from her immediately. Which was fine. His mind was already at the Jeffersonian. He needed to get to Bones. That was the only thing on his mind now, all he cared about. He forgot to text her, didn't even think about it, just drove straight to the Jeffersonian, parked, and practically ran to the lab, stopping only when he came to the edge of her office. Standing there in her doorway, he watched her. She was everything. Everything.

She jumped a little when she realized he was there, startled.

"Did you text?" Reaching for her phone, she looked troubled, afraid she'd missed the message somehow.

Booth shook his head. "Wasn't thinking about that. Sorry." His voice was quiet and deep, apologetic. Smiling, she stood and turned away from him, turning out her desk lamp, getting ready to gather up her belongings in the dim light her display cases provided. She was talking, saying something, but he wasn't really listening. His need to be close to her overrode everything else. Looking around at the quiet lab he took the few short steps bridging the gap between them. He was so close she could feel the heat radiating off of him, but not touching, which somehow made her want that contact more.

She froze, her breath heavy and fast with anticipation.

There was a moment there that she could've moved, continued her nightly routine, and stopped what was about to happen, but she didn't. She wanted him, needed him after such a long week and hard night, and he needed her. She could feel it. Somehow all that need bound together creating something overpowering, a force all its own.

When he brushed her hair out of the way, the tips of his fingers dragging across the nape of her neck, a chill ran through her. His warm breath fell heavy behind her ear, tickling, teasing. Small kisses, pecks really, then firmer, his mouth open, murmuring against her sensitive skin, how much he missed her, how much he'd thought about being with her just like this all day. The scratch of his five o'clock shadow as his cheek grazed the length of her neck. It was irresistible.

His hands, his hands followed the curve of her body from her hips along her thighs, soft but firm, strong, sure, safe. So safe she leaned back into him, letting herself feel, she could do that with him, let go and just feel. She'd never experienced anything quite like that with anyone else.

And she was so responsive, it pushed him on, he needed more, more of her, all of her. Bunching up her skirt in his hands, he frantically searched after bare skin. It felt good, the dichotomy of his touch, his cool hands against her warm skin, his calloused fingers rough against her smooth leg. She couldn't help the sounds of pleasure that escaped, they were involuntary, and he couldn't control his reaction. They were lost in one another.

The rest was a blur, an overload of sensory input.

The way her head spun when he whipped her around, their lips crashing together. The sharp pain when her back hit the shelving unit behind her desk. The rocking sound of priceless artifacts as they shook and settled back into place. The feel of their bodies colliding with one another, with her desk, all sharp corners and rounded edges. Her hands on his belt buckle, nimble fingers against cold metal, raised letters, and slick polished enamel. Cocky.

The shuddering metal sound as she pushed him against the filing cabinet, pressing in on him. The grip of his hands on her hips as he jerked them firmly against his own in one swift move. His lips, hers, devouring. A tall floor lamp he reached out and steadied before it fell over as they made their way to the couch. The way it slid out of place as they fell on it. The wave of utter and complete relief when their bodies finally joined, it was audible, feeling brought to life in sound. The pleasure of friction, the pull and push, the final press, coursing, pulsing. One, being one, not just with anyone, with him, with Booth, and him with her.

They never completely disrobed, though as she lay there underneath him, both of them trying desperately to catch up with themselves, she determined it was by far her most passionate and satisfying sexual experience.

The press of his lips to her forehead, to her temple, her cheek, his breath becoming more even and normal with each kiss.

"Hi." He whispered, his lips brushing gently against her.

"That, that was...quite a greeting." Her hands rubbed firmly along his arms and shoulders.

"Well, yeah, I missed you I guess."

"Me too- I mean I missed you...too, also, not that I missed myself."

Leaning his weight on one arm he carefully stroked her hair smoothing it away from her face.

"I caught that." He went to move off of her only to have her stop him, holding him close.

"Not yet." She whispered, taking in a long deep breath.

That's when they heard it. The loud crackle of a security guard's walky-talky followed by the beam of a flashlight rolling across the walls of her office. Her eyes widened in a strange mix of panic and excitement as he quickly pulled his finger up to her lips and urged her to be quiet. Tucking themselves tightly against the couch, they tried not to move or make a sound as they listened to the man's muffled report.

Nothing out of the ordinary, no explanation for the crashing sound he'd thought he'd heard.

He was sure neither of them took a breath until they heard the man leave and the sliding glass doors of the Medico-legal lab close behind him. They fell apart laughing, straightened themselves up in the dark, gathered belongings, and exited quietly, looking down the halls before making a quiet run for it.

They were safe and sound in the truck when he turned to her.

"I love you, you know that, right?"

"I love you too." Her smile was soft and content and she was quiet for quite some time before speaking again. "I've never done that before." She confessed quietly, "in my office...well, not just my office, never at work, in the lab."

"Really?"

"No. Never." That wasn't surprising, she was pretty strict about conduct in the lab. There were lots of arbitrary rules that he was pretty sure were all her own.

"Not even with -"

"No. Not even with Sully. You're the first." He glanced over at her, watching as she tucked her hair behind her ear. She looked so young, so vulnerable sometimes, it nearly took his breath away.

"That's right, Seeley Booth, the one and only." He added proudly.

He had a way of making everything better, always had, and while she worried about what the future would hold for them, his thirty, forty, fifty years still seemed like such an impossibility; she knew deep down her life would never be the same, and at moments like this, she wanted every one of those years.

ooooo0ooooo

A/N: Thank you so much for all your patience in waiting for an update on this story. Writing is still going slowly for me and my health is forever complicating that, but I'm plugging along and promise to finish this (it's not over yet) and Two Tickets to Paradise, as well as some other stories that are still just ideas that won't leave me alone.

Thank you to all those who have read, reviewed, followed, and favorited this and my other stories, especially the old ones. It's always exciting to get a review or follow or favorite from one of those older stories. I am so sorry I'm ridiculously behind on acknowledging reviews for both stories. With the little energy I have, I chose to squeak out a paragraph here and there. Please know that each review and message means the world to me. They do me good in just about every way imaginable, including fueling the creative fires.

Thank you also to chosenname and snowybones for help in editing and being a sounding board for this insecure writer. The reassurance that something is turning out relatively how I mean it to in my mind keeps me posting.

I hope you've enjoyed this chapter, I'd love to know your thoughts.

Much Love

DG


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

"Time is the wave upon the shore. It takes some things away, but it brings other things."

― **Amy Neftzger** , **War of Words**

"Ange." Lifting her glass to her lips to avoid answering the question, Brennan took another sip of her wine. She couldn't hide that same satisfied grin Angela had seen the day after Vincent Nigel- Murray's death when she had confessed to crawling into bed with her partner. "Booth...Booth is a very private man, you know that." She added by way of explanation.

"Seriously." Angela slumped back on the couch letting out a huff of a sigh. "I'm married and almost nine months pregnant here, Bren. Not that sex isn't still, you know, _great_ and all -"

"Hey, I heard that." Hodgins called out from the kitchen, where he was cleaning up from their shared dinner.

"Because _it_ is, you know, Hodgins _is_ …great...and we...we are still...great." She spoke loud enough for her husband to overhear, then lowered her voice and leaned in to make sure the conversation stayed between her and her friend. "Look, I just want some steamy details here, okay? Some hot, sex-is-new-and-exciting-and-out-of-control details and I know you have 'em, Sweetie. I know you're just holding out on me."

"Angela, we work together." Closing her eyes momentarily, she wished Booth would hurry and get there. She needed him for backup. "All of us...and Booth, he would...he wouldn't...if he ever found out that I told you he'd…"

It was still so new between them, still dreamy and exciting and exhilarating. Precarious too, if she thought about it too long, like walking a tightrope. She didn't want it to end, it couldn't. Still, the possibility of her own failings affecting their relationship felt inevitable, giving her a very real sense that she could slip and fall if she weren't especially careful.

"He won't find out." Angela could see the slight crack in Brennan's otherwise iron will and was determined to weasel her way in. "Think about it, Sweetie, how would he? I'm certainly not gonna tell him." Brennan rolled her eyes and shook her head trying to brush off the persistent attempts of her best friend. "If I did you'd never tell me anything ever again and..." Angela stopped mid-sentence, "oooh, this little guy is so active." Completely distracted, her hand fell to her belly and rubbed slowly over her baby bump as her friend watched in amazement, her tummy rolling with kicks and movements.

"Guy? As in male?"

"No. No, just as in general, male or female, we're sticking to our decision to wait to find out until the baby is born."

"It's not surprising, the increased movements I mean. In fact, it's not uncommon for expectant mothers to experience more activity shortly after a meal due to a rise in blood glucose levels. Some people attribute that to particular foods, although there is no hard science to support that."

Angela was about to answer but caught her friend's distant look. Something that seemed to be happening more and more lately. It concerned her. Clearing her throat, she was about to speak when Bren continued. "More likely, the fetus within you is feeling the effects of the large dinner we just shared, high in carbohydrates from the pasta."

She was still rambling on about the chemical makeup of their meal when Angela interrupted, grabbing her hand and pressing it right over the kicks of baby Hodgins. The baby's foot pressed firmly up into her hand. Angela watched as a look of amazement and joy washed over her friend. Turning in her seat, Brennan settled next to Angela, letting her head fall to her friend's shoulder while keeping her hand in place.

Of late, it seemed Angela's pregnancy had been at the forefront of Brennan's mind. She found herself returning to it repeatedly, dwelling on the topic as if it were a particularly complex equation with an elusive solution. While she'd always been a very proactive friend in researching and providing Angela with plenty of information regarding many aspects of gestation, like diet, she now found her mind drifting to the less concrete implications of child bearing, such as the way it would affect Angela and Hodgins, their daily lives, and work, their friendships. It would be life altering, it already had been.

"So, how is it between you two, really?" Angela broke through the reverie of her thoughts. "You haven't really talked about it since that first day, after, you know, Vincent-."

"It hasn't even been two weeks, Ange." Brennan let out a long heavy sigh, which did nothing but add to Angela's worries. "Ten days, or eleven, depending on how you count it."

Silence fell between them, pushing the soft music playing and the faint clatter of Hodgins' work in the kitchen into the foreground as Brennan's thoughts turned inward once again. Maybe the pregnancy had been at the forefront of her mind because, inevitably, if her relationship with Booth were to continue, questions of marriage and children would come up. It was a logical explanation, she reminded herself, considering the possibility of her actually being pregnant from those first couple days with Booth was, in fact, statistically improbable.

Turning her head toward her best friend, she found her sitting there, waiting patiently. Years of experience had taught Angela that if she pushed Brennan in just the right ways, then gave her a little space, she would eventually answer on her own. Brennan didn't disappoint. After a flash of resignation she spoke.

"Amazing. Things with Booth that is, although, not enough time has passed to really determine how it will be over time. Still, I find it different than I expected, better." A satisfied smile spread across her expression.

"You two are very good at hiding it. If I didn't know better I'd never guess you were a couple."

Truth was, they were hiding it so well that Angela worried about how they were making the transition from partners and friends to lovers. The last thing she wanted was for her friend to panic and backtrack, pulling away from Booth, hiding behind work or some other nonsense. After all these years and the heartache these two had suffered over each other, she wasn't about to let this relationship fail before it really got a chance to succeed. Which is why she planned this pseudo double-date in the first place.

When Brennan called to tell her that Booth wouldn't be joining them and used paperwork as an excuse, it sent a wave of panic through her. She knew then she needed to dig a little for some relationship details so she could figure out just how much help the two of them needed to make this work.

"Well, thank you." Taking in a sharp breath, Brennan pulled her head up off her friend's shoulder to the back of the couch and rolled to the side so she could see her better. "We're trying. Booth says it's our greatest undercover operation yet." She smiled sweetly, a sparkle in her eye. She loved undercover work. "My acting has been quite superb hasn't it?"

"Yes, it has. But, you don't have to act here. You know that, right? Not with me. We can just talk, right? So, how is it, really, it must be hard to keep your hands off him after waiting so long to be together?" She cautioned a glance, trying to catch a reaction. "When Hodgins and I were first together I swear we had every nook and cranny of the Jeffersonian mapped out for easy access." She laughed, fond memories rushing back. "I can draw you up a map if you want?"

"No, not at work, no thank you."

"Yeah, well you say that now, but you're always at work so I'm sure that'll change. The two of you are going to have to make time to squeeze _it_ in somewhere, or it's going to take a toll on your relationship. Trust me. Besides, some night when you're working late and you haven't seen him all day because you've both been busy that bone room is going to look better and better. When it happens just text me, I'll hook ya up."

"Angela."

"Yeah, yeah, I know, the sanctity of the lab and all that keep-things-sterile bullshit."

It was the flash of pink across her cheeks, the quick little breath she sucked in, like she had to remind herself to breathe, the sated look that filled her eyes momentarily, that gave her away.

"Oh my god, it's already happened. You've already done it at work!"

"Ange, seriously."

"Oh, no you don't, that whole acting thing might work with other people but not with me, Sweetie. Come on...fess up...time to tell all."

"I didn't say anything."

"Oh...you didn't have to, I can see it in your eyes, and damn it must have been good judging by what I see."

It was, that was undeniable, although she would certainly try and deny it.

Temperance Brennan had been sexually active for most of her adult life, and she wasn't new to the kind of passion and response to physical stimuli that could override rational thought, but she'd never completely lost control, not with any of her previous sexual partners, not like she had that night with Booth. It was still so fresh in her memory, only two days past, that she couldn't help but relive it as the sensations came rushing back.

It was by far her most satisfying sexual experience to date, if she were to rank them. It was more, so much more, it was everything, physical, emotional. Every time with them was, but this experience out ranked them all in a way she couldn't quite articulate.

"I want some of whatever you're having right there." Angela's voice cut through her dreamy memory. Smiling, she let out a low chuckle and shook her head slightly.

"I don't know what you mean."

"Seriously, don't even. You know exactly what I mean, Bren. Please, just a little something, just a couple crumbs." Eying her friend with a deeply skeptical look, Brennan took a long deep breath.

"It was late, like you intimated." Angela squealed and Bren reacted as she watched her jump a little in her seat from excitement. "And while it is true there are places where it would be inappropriate to engage in…sexual antics, places I _never_ would under _any_ circumstances…," she took a long deep breath eyeing her friend carefully, knowing if she let this slip it she'd never get away without being more specific, "my office is not one of them."

"Oh my god, all those windows." She chuckled, to which Brennan shot her a most exasperated look. "Seriously, that is so hot, Sweetie, like really, really hot." Opening her mouth as if to speak, Brennan stopped, closing it tight in protest. Angela waited for her friend to continue her story and when she didn't, she begged. "Bren. Come on, you have to tell me more. Desk sex? Was it desk sex? I'll never look at your desk the same way."

"No. No. Not my desk -" She was interrupted by the doorbell. Booth, that would be Booth. He said he'd come by when he was done with his paperwork. Craning her head, she watched as Hodgins rushed from the kitchen through the living room to the front door.

"I got it, babe." He called out as he went. Angela relaxed back into the couch, giving up her struggle to stand. "Booth. Hey, man, glad you could make it,"

"Sorry, I'm late." Booth wiped his feet on the front mat before stepping into the Hodgins' home, shrugging out of his overcoat. "I...I had to finish up some paperwork before I could leave." Letting out a heavy sigh, his eyes darted around the room looking for Bones. "I have Parker this weekend or I would just go in tomorrow, you know, to finish it up."

"No worries, man, seriously."

The decision to keep their relationship secret had been a tough, but necessary one. He wanted to give Bones some time to adjust and feel comfortable before the world swept in with their opinions. This would give them some space to do that. At the time he thought it wouldn't be that big of a deal, he wasn't a big public displays of affection kind of guy to begin with and Bones, well, she wasn't either, more than him, but now that they were together, it was different. At least it felt that way to him.

More than anything he wanted to hold her hand across the table at the diner and greet her with a simple kiss, even if it was only a peck on the cheek. Little things really, little things that seemed big now that they were finally a couple and he still had to restrain himself.

Having dinner with Angela and Hodgins, at their home, away from the public, was a great compromise. He could sit close, sling his arm around her shoulder, give her a kiss, all the stuff that couples get to do, without fear of someone seeing and rumors flying. He knew Bones was looking forward to this double date thing, she'd been talking about it for the last three days almost non-stop, and as much as Angela could be a pain in the ass, he'd been looking forward to it too.

It was a relief to see her smiling broadly when their eyes met, for a split second, but then, almost as quickly, his entire stance changed. Hands on his hips, his shoulders fell, head tilted back in exasperation, and he let out a heavy sigh. "Really?"

"What?" Hodgins and Angela both asked at once.

He didn't respond. Not a word was spoken as Hodgins and Angela looked back and forth between the couple, waiting for one of them to speak.

"I told you he'd know." Smug and confident, Brennan responded as she folded her arms across her chest and glared at Angela before turning her attention back to Booth. "I didn't say anything, not really, no details."

"She didn't have the chance." Angela looked more than a little frustrated, which pleased Booth, and then she giggled. "And, she didn't have to. I gotta say, Booth, in all the years I've known Bren and our _many_ conversations about sex I -""

"Stop, okay, just stop...right...there." Booth put his hands up and let his eyes close momentarily. He really, really didn't want to think about Bones with another man. "That's enough, really."

But Angela couldn't help herself. "I've never seen her blush like-"

"Angela." Hodgins interrupted, trying to stop the torture by offering Booth some dinner and a drink, but Angela kept at it, sneaking in one last tidbit.

"Not even with Sully." She added quickly.

Sully was a sore spot for Booth, even after all these years, but he took what Angela said as a compliment. He couldn't help the way his chest puffed just a little broader and the confident expression that took over his face as a cocky smile spread all the way up to his eyes.

"That's right," he offered up before changing the subject abruptly because he really didn't want to discuss details of his sex life with Angela or Hodgins. "I think I'll take you up on that drink now, Hodgins."

Booth followed him through the room into the kitchen, grabbing a beer from his friend as he helped serve up some dessert for the ladies. When they settled back down in the living room, it was as couples.

Parker was their first topic of conversation, their plans for the weekend being a logical place to start after Booth's late arrival. The news that Rebecca was considering a position in England which would take his son out of the country and severely limit their visits made every opportunity to spend time with his son a priority.

"That's not right, man." Hodgins responded to the news, his hand falling instinctually to Angela's baby bump, protectively circling his growing child. "I can't imagine what you're feeling. Just thinking about it makes me a little crazy and I haven't even held my child yet. You gonna fight it?"

"Maybe. No. I don't know...still thinking about it." Booth shrugged, his fork scraping at the last bite of pie on his plate. "She just told me a week ago when I asked if we could have Parker for the weekend. I mean...I don't want to take him away from his mom. I was young pretty young when my mom…she just…" He popped the last bite in his mouth avoiding a revelation he wasn't prepared to get into about his childhood. Looking down at the empty pie plate, he paused before setting it down on the coffee table in front of him. "I don't want that for him. If the court sided with me then she'd either have to give up the job and stay here or leave him with me. That...that just doesn't seem right either, you know, and I don't want to force her to make that decision. She'd hate me, and who could blame her."

Mothers, sons, England, it was only natural that Brennan's mind drifted to Mr. Nigel-Murray as Booth continued to talk. The funeral was coming up soon, Sweets had been continually pressuring her to attend, something about respect and closure, the importance of her presence as his mentor and advisor, and the need for her to properly mourn the loss of her brilliant, young intern. She drew in a sharp breath and held it.

Angela didn't seem to notice, but Booth did, stretching his arm out around her shoulder and pulling her in.

"Rebecca says we can Skype everyday if we want and offered to pay for him to come back and spend time with me for all major holidays and all of summer break. I'd pay for that, I don't care how much she's making, he's my son. My son, my responsibility." There was a bite to what he'd just said. It always bothered Brennan how Rebecca didn't seem to understand the importance of Booth's role in Parker's life. Reaching out, she laid her hand on Booth's knee. He turned, their eyes catching, and smiled at her, placing his hand over hers. "The flight's not that expensive, especially if you plan ahead. It's not bad."

As the conversation continued, Brennan returned to her musings. Cam was going, to the funeral, representing the Jeffersonian. Angela could deliver any day. Who would man the lab if Hodgins and Angela were having their baby and Cam was in England? Besides, Cam was better at those things. Letting out a long sigh, she found herself scooting in a little closer to Booth.

Hodgins shook his head in relative admiration of Booth, who gave him a nod. "What about Parker, what does he want?"

Booth let out a billowing huff of a breath. "He hasn't really said. I'm just trying to be supportive, you know, remind him I will love him just as much if he's in England as here. I tell him he's a good kid and he'll make new friends wherever he goes. It'll be an adventure. I mean, who gets to do that, you know, live in a different country, just wake up on a Saturday and jump on a train and go to Germany or France or wherever? That's pretty cool. And what kind of dad would I be if I kept him from that?"

Brennan sighed quietly. Mr. Nigel-Murray had been in the United States for school for well over three years, mostly pursuing his doctorate. He had a life in D.C., friends, mates, as he so often referred to them. She hadn't considered the people the young man left behind here, in D.C., his American home. Her mind had been mostly focused on the loss his family must be feeling, his mother specifically after talking with Cam, who'd spoken with the grieving woman directly, and Angela, who was preparing herself to be a mother and had spoken quite openly about how heartbroken she would be in similar circumstances. Those conversations had originally focused her attention on his grieving family, but now her thoughts seemed consumed by those who'd been close to him at the Jeffersonian, his classmates, and friends.

"You're a bigger man that I am, man." Hodgins just shook his head, the whole situation seemed crazy to him and he found himself angry for Booth.

"Thanks man, but I'm not really, trust me. I'm just trying to be a good dad, you know, think of him, not me, because if it were up to me," he shook his head, "a lot of things would be different."

Brennan was happy when the conversation moved on to other topics, but she remained unsettled and distracted. Her mind couldn't seem to let go, thoughts of her most brilliant intern since Zack, another terrible and personal loss, kept creeping in to every subject they discussed.

Talking about Max and his latest adventures reminded her of the life he led away from her, one she only had scarce details of, the ones Max wanted her to have. She never met his friends or the women he dated, and rarely went over to his apartment. When she saw her father it was usually him coming to see her, and almost always at a restaurant or the lab. She wondered how much Mr. Nigel-Murray's family knew, if anything, of his life in America. It was her understanding, from conversations with the young man, that his family had never been to see him in D.C. They couldn't afford the trip.

Booth asking about how Angela and Hodgins were holding up so close to delivery brought up the funeral. Their lamentations troubled Brennan. The soon to be parents wouldn't be able to attend the funeral either, something they had both expressed regret over to her on multiple occasions, nearly every time the subject was broached, and now Angela was crying.

Angela asked about Russ, Amy and the girls as a distraction to her grief. But to Brennan, it was just another piece in the long string of thoughts forming an strong undercurrent to their topical conversations. Her frustration over Russ' refusal to accept her financial assistance for his family to travel up to D.C. for a visit led her quickly to the thought that there might be friends and colleagues of the young scientist, at the lab, or spread out across the East Coast, many who might want to attend the services in England, but would not be able to because of financial considerations.

No matter what they discussed, her mind inevitably connected the conversation to Mr. Nigel-Murray's funeral. As the night progressed, she became increasingly agitated by the thoughts which seemed inescapable, and her mind sought endlessly for a solution. Attending herself wouldn't solve the problemas she saw it, it certainly wouldn't give his family the opportunity to see what his life in America was like or his friends the chance to attend his services to honor him.

When the evening was over and they finally settled in the truck to head home, Booth hesitated before pulling onto the road. Looking over at her, he spoke softly. "You okay, Bones?"

"Yes. Why?"

"Something's bothering you. I can tell."

"No. Nothing." She insisted, and Booth nodded, even though he was sure that wasn't true.

The subject was dropped, Booth pulled out onto the street, and she turned the conversation to more immediate needs. Which apartment they were going to be staying at for the night, plans for breakfast, errands to run before they picked up Parker, whether or not to tell him about their relationship or wait. Conversation flowed easily as her mind continued to churn, until she abruptly interrupted him mid-sentence.

"I'm going to host a memorial for Mister….," letting her eyes close momentarily, she continued, "Mr. Vincent Nigel-Murray."

Booth smiled. "What?" There was a look of pride in his eyes. "That's good, Bones, a good idea, very thoughtful, but I thought you didn't believe in funerals."

"I don't."

"Okay," He drew the word out long and slow, "then why...why would you host one?"

"The funeral isn't for me, Booth." Booth opened his mouth as if to argue that point, maybe she thought it wasn't for her, but it was, it had to be, but he closed it again without speaking as she continued. "It's for his friends, his colleagues, his family. There are many people in his life that won't have the opportunity to mourn him in England, and his family in England never got to see or experience what his life was like here. I want to give them that opportunity."

She'd already planned out where she would do it, at the Jeffersonian, and how she would manage the event. Booth could help her with the social requirements; he was religious and good at that sort of thing. Financially, she had plenty of money to fund the event and she would insist on paying for his family to come. It was the least she could do.

"I think that's a great idea, Bones." He wanted to reassure her, knowing full well how anxious this sort of thing made her. Grabbing her hand in his, Booth squeezed before bringing it up to his lips for a kiss. "You have a beautiful heart, Baby."

"Thank you," she whispered nearly under her breath, "and I'm not a baby," she added much louder, a smirk of smile and a twinkle in her eye lighting up her expression. Despite her token protest, she'd found herself growing fond his possessive nomenclature.

Settling back in the seat, she let out a long peaceful sigh and then another as she turned and watched Booth drive. She felt her whole body relax, releasing the tension she'd felt escalating since talk of her young intern's funeral started shortly after his death. Both her mind and body happy with the decision to honor Mr. Vincent Nigel-Murray in this way. A quick glance from Booth, his warm eyes and reassuring smile, brought her back to their new shared reality. Life was different, full of things she'd never expected, and even though some of those things were bad, hard even, it was still good, better in ways she had never anticipated it could be.

A/N: Thank you all for not giving up on me during my long absence. I am so grateful your support and encouragement, it keeps me going. I deeply appreciate each review, follow, favorite, and private message I receive, especially because it has been so long.

Special thanks to chosenname for her patience with my rusty writing and honesty, which has helped (is helping) me find my footing again. And snowybones for always being there for me.


End file.
